A commentary on some woman s poem

Ugh, vomit.
I've been reading some contemporary women's poetry.
And it's true, the phrasing is very similar
to the way my husband and I fucked once,
standing on the subway.
Yes, the train car was full of people,
but no one looked at us discreetly.
From these poems of sensuality have the same effect, roughly,
from the outside looking in.
Forgive us, we didn't do it for show,
it's just the way it is.
But poetry is an open art.
So poet, don't write about dance if you can't dance.

Well, this poet just wrote
on a country dance floor with her ear in someone's armpit.
Oh, her description of the passion of that dance is so awful,
It's just impossible to replicate.

The claim of cinematic eroticism is laughable
without the staged lighting.
Modest, really, ladies should be modest.
And the first clause of such rules for poetry:
Other people's sex is unpleasant.
Three: no talking out loud about the intimate.

Taste and color, of course, there are no comrades.
(it's an idiom)
In my opinion, Bunin is a nightmarish puke, too.
(it's an idiom again)
Poets, please don't make decent ladies blush for themselves.

Deviant behavior on my part? Really?
And I think it's the height of shamelessness to talk about love in public.

 Well, aren't we mostly just poets here?
(The events and opinions described have nothing to do with the author.
It's a lyrical image.)

Poetry is also the art of deception! Here's to you poetry circle!
"we'll eat dirty meat and write clean poetry"
(from the dream in the red house chapter in the middle.)

-Why do I have to dilute my whiskey?
(pardon if what