I Just Don’t Think Like A Portable Unit

all my ergs are potential; my legs are grown over with vine,
my scruff of beard is shot through with a dull and agitated
gray, and, theoretically, I think sex is too much trouble. Once

you’ve been one with another, burdocked, the two of you twinned
for all time, mated for lust, branded, burned down, thrown back, and
thrown over for love, eternal, people start having expectations.