Let's talk about sex baby / Let's talk about you and me

I chose to contrast The Flea by John Donne and Mi Fea by Pablo Neruda. I'm not sure if I could have found two poems so drastically different.

So Donne's poem is an unabashedly erotic seduction poem, although one that never actually makes direct reference to sex. Instead, the concept of sex, and the speaker's attempt to convince his lover to perform that action with him, is pursued through an extended metaphor of a flea. "Mark but this flea, and mark in this / How little that which thou deny'st me is; / It sucked me first and now sucks thee, / And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;". Donne's introductory lines address a series of important issues, most notably that while the act of non-marital sex may be grossly immoral, the same concept of mingling but done in the body of a flea is quite normal. He points out that if the mingling of blood is fine, then the denial of sex on moral grounds is "little"; of no import. This first stanza has a cute lil bit of innuendo in it too: "Yet this enjoys before it woo, / And pampered swells with one blood made of two". Yes friends, that's a boner pun. Stanza two introduces the concept of trinity, holding that the flea, the man's blood, and the woman's blood are inextricably intertwined. Combined as they are in the belly of the flea, that "marriage bed, and marriage temple is", they are as closed to married as any other married couple, parental objections be damned, and since they're married it's a-ok for her to have sex with him (at least that's his idea). At this point, she ,either fed up with his incessant thirsty blather or simply driven by habit, moves to kill the flea, and he points out that in that act she commits "sacrilege, three sins in killing three." The crafty bugger then uses her killing the flee to his advantage when he says that she would lose no more honor "when thou yield'st to me" than when she took the fleas life. aka pls sleep w me.

Neruda takes a slightly more reverent tone to the concept of love. His poem is written entirely in a series of contrasts: he begins a line with "Mi fea" and points out some hideous flaw of hers, then begins the following line with "mi bella" and points out her impossible beauty. In this he expresses his love for her in all forms, flaws and perfections. The poem is even more touching when considered in context - he dedicated it to his wife and intended the poem to be a passionate one addressing a real attitude towards love, not filled with idealism but instead recognizing the nature of love once youth, passion, and beauty have been replaced by age and maturity.

There's definitely an obvious difference from the lusty whore monger style literature of Donne and the passionate and mature work of Neruda, but I've gotta say I don't think I picked very well because I agree with neither. Disregarding my uncertainty on whether or not the concept of love as we know it is even a true thing, I'd have to say that for me love isn't about lust and it's not about a passion for another person's flaws, but instead seems more about having enough of a commitment and trust for someone to where their flaws no longer matter. I've never met people who were so in love that she loved his incessant snoring, or he loved her odor, or anything, but I have met people who just didn't care anymore. And I feel like that - the not caring about flaws, the recognition that everyone has problems, and that willingness to not pass judgement - is the closest that people get to love.
Also love does not equal sex. And sex does not equal love.