The Prostate Poems Part 5

The Prostate Poems I-XXVI

XXVII.

the first pains of inexperience

give way to excitement

only returning on the morrow

XXVIII.

You did it right

You did it slow

Now do it once more

XXIX.

it’s right there,

so often ignored

found with purpose

by knowing hands,

exploring hands

XXX.

blessing to the sodomites

for finding their source

XXXI.

I press

a thumbprint scanner

of biological design

the beep-beep reaction

music to my ears

XXXII.

screams ripped

from somewhere deeper

than your throat

XXXIII.

Churning makes this cream into butter

molecules excited

rearranging into new patterns

Towel count

It's endless, mindless.
Folding half, in half, in half again.
But there's something soothing
about 200 towels
fluffy and white.
Sweat.
They make you sweat
and then collect it into
the very fabric of their being.
Fresh, their static shock becomes
a lover's kiss
from the dimension of missing socks;
their warmth a hug
from kling-klang wombs.
Their ivory towers
built in Pisa
mock gravity before succumbing
to the allure of bodies in motion.