I don't consider you to be holy

or better than me in any way

because you have chosen to never strip down

and mount another consenting adult in

Dionysian joy.

You think that the spirit behind that special look

that comes across a human's face

just before the coming together of sensitive, excited skin,

is obscene and vulgar,

and that the act of being united together

in the embrace of Eros

is "coarse" and "low" and "disgusting" and you ask,

"Why did He choose such a degrading method to create new lives?"

You want others to be as ashamed, as crippled, and as apologetic about their own

sacred animal natures

as you are.

You deny that you hate it, and you even,

hilariously,

counsel them about it,

but you demand that they never indulge themselves

except to make more humble followers for you to scar

with your ignorance and fear and superstition, and that they do it

hurriedly,

with the lights out,

furtively,

without joy or pleasure, and feeling

slightly unclean afterward.

Choose to do what you will for yourself,

cut yourself off from that fevered, intimate world, because it is your right,

but understand that I look on you with the same pity

that I usually reserve

for anorexics

and that I look on all your talk about

self-denial and discipline and rising above and ascending to a higher plane

with a contempt that would render you

speechless

if you ever felt it the way

I do.