pure pleasure, thematic musings, beautiful male flesh
Carl Miller Daniels

when the wildebeests are upon the land
and the lure of pumpkin batter is inescapable,
there will be gnashings of teeth.
there will be spikings of hair.
blue tri-tone will rule.
beautiful young men will strip themselves
naked and stand in front of their mirrors,
agonizing. is touching a body this
beautiful, even if it’s your own
body, a homosexual act? is watching yourself touch
a body this beautiful, even
if it’s your own body, a homosexual act?
thoughts occur, subside, rouse.
and then they stand there naked and
big-dicked in front of their mirrors
and watch themselves masturbate, watch
themselves stroke their big smooth
purple-headed dicks, watch
themselves spurt pints of hot smelly cum that
dribble down the cold glossy surfaces
of the mirrors.
as their knees go weak and buckle from
the multi-jib-jab sparks of too much pleasure,
there’s a hint of doubt that anything
that feels this good must be
naked sexy big-dicked young men
put on their clothes and go out
roaming the planet,
licks lipped wet with their own
spit, eyelashes batting
helplessly in the face of
bitter desire. milkweed plants grow
tall and furry and release their
white puffy seeds into the breezes
that underscore the horizon.
at dusk, tears are shed, and
it is assumed that if anybody
notices, they’ll pretend not
to, or say something brilliant,
or at least, something.

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