Late April, and it’s lovebug season.
Their small bodies rain softly
on my windshield, the smaller male
and the larger female, joined
at the genitals for up to three days
of coital bliss. Human
copulation is quick in comparison.
I imagine making excuses for a couple
whose mating session is in progress.
The Robinsons are indisposed. They
won't be at the beach house after all.
Or maybe we, like the lovebugs,
would learn to cope, continue
our rounds hip to hip, a blanket
wrapped and pinned around us
as we made our spectacular
party entrance, all the couples fleeing
the futon to make room for our
our discreet moans.