When it comes to coitus, men
have a hard time: they depend
on hydraulics. Other mammals have a bone,
it allows them to stay inside
for as long as she permits -
the Blue Whale's support is a yard long -
but man needs plumbing, sluices, gates,
a cascade of fluid mechanics
for blood to enter the expectant member.
Squeezed along hundreds
of corkscrew vessels,
it rushes in at fifty times its normal rate,
floods the filigree pipework.
At one discouraging signal,
the valves close, the supply fails,
arterial valves swing shut,
fluid sluices out and the virile
apparatus droops, the path
from brain to phallus
a clear sweep. So we start
with chemistry but end
in physics: an exercise in pumps.
This, then, is the looped brilliance
of desire, the neat circuitry of love.