Sex and Pizza

One obvious perplexity in sexual
desire is how it mires the imagination in,
and with regard particularly to,
those blunt aspects of fantasy
that influence (fantastically) the flesh:
the limbic system runs amok and all
the thing you are can think to do is fuck.

Without availing opportunities
to gratify one’s importuning flesh,
one tries instead to think of fresh alternatives:
but comes up with clichés: those tired
and repressive ways of redirecting lust:
a chilly shower has a certain tediously
chastening if sudden power; or, of course,

the other old resort: to seek an onanistic fate,
and masturbate. But why, I thought,
not channel one’s libido into food
and rev up to a culinary mood –
to be a feaster! – make an online order
for a pizza! – undergo alluring throes
of choosing something custom-made

from Domino’s: with extra cheese and meat.
And so I did, and was engaged
by all the entertaining thoroughgoing onsite
news of progress of what I was soon to eat:
Domino’s informed me that “Muhammed”
put my pizza in at 3:05, de-ovened
it at twenty after three and now

the thing allegedly was on its way to me!
I optimistically expect, when it arrives,
that it will be a fine distracting treat.
But that was quite some time ago.
and where Muhammed’s gone with it,
I do not know. It’s starting, now,
to vex. It seems a lot like sex.

.