Tell Me Billy Collins

tell me,
about this connection,
between sex and death.
Somewhere along the way,
I’ve missed it.
What is it, I don’t get,
tell me, Billy Collins, tell me.

After you have removed
your clothes, your skin, your organs,
also your penis;
as your skeleton fingers type beautiful
poems about death,
where do you put your penis.
You don’t have a pocket
to put it in, to stop it becoming
shrivelled and cold.
It’s worrying me.
How will you reinstall
these various parts,
especially your cold, shrivelled penis,
when you return into yourself

Oh, give it here,
and she,
the young one, inside,
she, will have your penis,
to play with.

Now, will you tell me, Billy Collins