We lay in bed still hot
And I tell you that there is no such thing as love as I stare up at the ceiling.
You close your eyes.
No love, not like in cards or poems or a sacred word people dare not say,
Like the time I told you ‘I think I’m falling in love’ and you dare not reply.
No, not love, just DNA, our only job
To pass it on,
No more than that.
The fun we have in between
Packed in tight or otherwise
Between birth and death
Our reward for a mission we may not even except.
“That’s nice’ you say, eyes still closed.
Love is what is needed to make babies
Us humans not good all at reproducing
More panda than rabbit, I go on.
A quick shag and your done for them: no bunny love for us.
“That’s nice” you say again, eyes still closed.
Sir Robert Winston - I add - told me once
Over lunch (he had egg and chips)
That when you had real love and passion
Fancy the pants of one another (my words not his)
That babies came more easy,
The bite of her neck,
To kiss the edge of her ribs,
To run fingers down the backs of her thighs (my words not his)
All that was required to boost the chances of your DNA to pass a little easier.
One more step
One more small evolution
From love, not just from fucking.
“That’s romantic” you say, your eyes opening now, green and lovely.
And I turn to look at your face, hair wild on the pillow,
And know I’m a fool
Love in no need of explanation.
The morning before valentines.