a poem for swingers, a poem for the playgirls of the universe:

I like women who haven’t lived with too many men.
I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women
who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience.

there is a quality about women who choose
men sparingly;
it appears in their walk
in their eyes
in their laughter and in their
gentle hearts.

women who have had too many men
seem to choose the next one
out of revenge rather than with
feeling.

when you play the field selfishly everything
works against you:
one can’t insist on love or
demand affection.
you’re finally left with whatever
you have been willing to give
which often is:
nothing.

some women are delicate things
some women are delicious and
wondrous.

if you want to piss on the sun
go ahead
but please leave them
alone.

- charles bukowski 

--

Not entirely sure why the manuscript reads "some human beings" and the versions I find online read "some women" but both ways are beautiful. Even if Bukowski wrote this as a lie and as a way to get laid, he's done it so perfectly I'm sure he did get laid a million times. But if he really did, then that would also be really ironic. I think I'll choose to believe that he isn't lying, though, and he understands the value of being selective and discerning, especially in the person you might eventually come to love. I love this poem, so much.