The rest are wasting time: your own (don’t care)
and mine (do care). I make no statements now.
God knows already—doesn’t need the how
and why, with whom, how often, when, or where.
Your prurience can prickle you with lust,
but don’t expect that I will scratch that itch.
Don’t come to me to hear a detailed list
of coital misdemeanours, things you missed,
of close to rabid mountings, dog meets bitch,
explosive penile boom and jubbly bust.
It’s possible that nothing much occurred.
Again, don’t look to me to tell you so.
Believe the almost certain lies you’ve heard
or not. I really couldn’t care. Just go.