Is It Stress?

Is it stress,

or loss, despair and survival

we must discuss.

                          Stress is just the symptom

of a universe intent to destroy the individual

before it births new life. It sends the dogs

after us, after the holocaust, in the tattered ruins

of our city.

                 There is this despair and expectation

of destruction, but somewhere there is still also

simple sky blue,

flowers among railroad ties,

true love between sexual partners.

Is it sex,

or love, companionship and reliableness

we must expect.

                          Sex, only eternally laying 
my head at your queynt, can interest me sometimes. 
Your legs lead to a pleasure that seems infinite 
and smells perfect.

                              So there is this tenderness, a 
connection like a suction to the biological, ephemeral

as snow on the ground,

one elk in aspen,

death and nothing less.