I found an old courtship poem this evening from some long ago time.  Reading it offered me a fresh and alarming insight into why I soon enough after composing the poem felt an overwhelming need to become celibate.

By the way, in the American Southwest, it is customary to hang bunches of deep red chili peppers on or near doors to homes as a sign of welcome and hospitality.

Were we lovers I would beg
To dye your pubic hair
The red of chili peppers
That hang in welcome on the porches.
Then I’d linger near your door,
My tongue searching out your spices,
Long before I entered,
Welcomed there.