Plugged

It's Springtime and all my brain will tell me is
"Sex! Sex! Sex!"
It resounds in the exact spot where the poetry should be.
So I take walks and stare at the beautiful
Women, and over and over it's
"Sex! Sex! Sex!" in my brain.
The stares come to nothing,
And the chant continues:
"Sex! Sex! Sex!" in my brain.
I go home, turn off the light
And try to imagine those beautiful dames,
But alas, when I do,
It's "Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!" in my brain.