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The real sex

A dream about sex
has nothing to do with the real sex.
The real sex is pain,
the real sex is struggle,
the real sex is humiliation.
Sex is a shameful compromise
between what you want and what you get —
you always try to fall in love
with the one you have sex with
but you never have sex with the one
you love.
Sex is inability —
inability to be better,
inability to get higher,
inability to satisfy your partner,
to satisfy yourself.
In bed you are always alone —
in the moment you dream,
in the moment you come.
Sex reminds us of our imperfections,
of the dirtiest parts of our bodies,
of the dirtiest parts of our souls.
Sex takes nothing from love,
nothing from respect,
nothing from gentleness.
Instead,
it makes you do repetitive movements
just to free your body
from another secretion
when the planet is overpopulated.
Still,
he is who always wants
and she is who always stops.
You have to prove yourself
but there’s nothing to prove in the modern life.
You’re just a spit on a highway,
shit on a railway
or stinky leftovers
on the rubber walls of a condom.
This is sexual you —
don’t get yourself fooled.