No X's and O's just poetry

I was going to blog about how much the Raiders sucked today, but I don't think anybody who follows this blog will enjoy my X's and O's analysis of how the Raiders' breakdown in pass protection led to their eventual undoing. (That may or may not have been a run-on sentence.)

Anyway, instead I'm going to post a Sharon Olds poem. Sharon's poems are really candid. They don't hold much back, and that's what I like about them. They're sometimes awkward, sometimes funny, sometimes erotic, and sometimes a little bit of everything. Usually they're about life, and life's little experiences. Anyway, here's a poem called "Last Night." I'm sure you can figure out what this is about.

Last Night
by Sharon Olds

The next day, I am almost afraid.
Love? It was more like dragonflies
in the sun, 100 degrees at noon,
the ends of their abdomens stuck together, I
close my eyes when I remember. I hardly
knew myself, like something twisting and
twisting out of a chrysalis,
enormous, without language, all
head, all shut eyes, and the humming
like madness, the way they writhe away,
and do not leave, back, back,
away, back. Did I know you? No kiss,
no tenderness---more like killing, death-grip
holding to life, genitals
like violent hands clasped tight
barely moving, more like being closed
in a great jaw and eaten, and the screaming
I groan to remember it, and when we started
to die, then I refuse to remember,
the way a drunkard forgets. After,
you held my hands extremely hard as my
body moved in shudders like the ferry when its
axle is loosed past engagement, you kept me
sealed exactly against you, our hairlines
wet as the arc of a gateway after
a cloudburst, you secured me in your arms till I slept---
that was love, and we woke in the morning
clasped, fragrant, buoyant, that was
the morning after love.