Hormones Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He always raced, gallopping up the stairs,
four flights it was, and at the top was SHE.
They had succumbed to what they knew was love,
and practiced making it, the end of every day.
And in the night, until the sun peeked in,
and as each time vulgarity had filled her to the hilt,
she laughed, inside of course, not openly at all,
a sense of peace took hold of her, it trickled from
her fiery loins and seeped from swollen lips,
through feathered downs, evaporating soon
through touch of heat and friction, gushing then
a mix of two philosophies, shy meeting of two stars.

One day it took, the fastest one had found a mate,
and they began the ritual inside the velvet cave,
until they grew and grew, expanding their horizons too,
but soon, there was a short inside the secret playing field.
She took it hard, this changing time and found a strength
made up of cold and brutal eyes and booming voice,
there was a diagnostic test of course, it showed a flaw,
so many androgens and free testosterone, a thought of boys?

She never caught herself, the spirit had destroyed
the last and pleasant remnants of a happy girl, at speed.
Each day she cursed her fate, it seemed that
Gods had been annoyed, and there was death for them indeed.
It was the end because it had been so ordained,
he packed his bags and cried a little in his socks,
and then he left, confused and terrified of sorts,
there was a stirring near his dufflebags, a dime
it had been waiting in his flowered boxershorts.
He took the stairs when going down, one at a time.