Desire’s a persistent thing,
But perishable and fragile all the same,
Capable of spoiling so easily,
That we must preserve it somehow,
Lest it starts to rot.
Frustration is sour and bitter,
And is so kin to vinegar,
So awful to taste on it’s own,
But has a way of preserving,
So we place our unused desire in jars of frustration.
And Pickling one’s sex life makes things last,
But just like vinegar frustration has a way,
Of changing one’s own desire and taste,
Into something sour, unlike the original,
That’s why sex is so much better fresh.