Lalbadhshah sends me a link to a lovely poem by Anne Sexton, “The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator”. I can’t help but quote this particularly sharp excerpt:
The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Marrying the bed, I would humbly submit, is better than marrying a tree. Or is it?