kiss

for him,
between sunset and sunrise, night,
the terrors, sorrows, jitters, emotional
and psychological aches and pains and
agonies,
are much worse
than they are during the day.
for him, green-in-experience, skinny,
slight of frame, blonde, 15
but going on 50,
night is the time of
magnification of all the
fears, anxieties, and miserable
thoughts, feelings, and ideas
that he has during the sunny
days, but just, well, at night,
they are worse, more painful,
between sunset and sunrise,
than they are during the
sunny sunny day.
he has taken to reading
forbidden books and magazines at night,
and he has taken
to looking at forbidden photographs therein,
photographs of a weird, wild, and highly
erotic nature.  he sits there
naked at his desk
beside his bed
reading forbidden words and
looking at forbidden photographs,
his door locked,
his parents asleep,
his dick hard
as a brick,
and as he reads and looks
at photographs,
he fiddles with his
dick some, well,
a lot actually,
until he spurts cum,
and wipes up, and
sometimes, he goes
right on reading
and looking at photographs
and fidding with his dick
until he spurts cum again.
thus passes the first
portion of the night,
his terrors and fears
and anxieties diminished
a bit with the reading
and the looking, and
the fiddling with
his dick, and the cumming, until,
exhausted, he crawls
into bed and
allows himself to
be swallowed by
the vast black
open maw that is
what has come to pass
for a good
night's
sleep. he wakes
grateful for the dawn,
but wary, always always
wary. that look
in his eyes, some people
call it "sensitive" but
those in the know
call it
"fractured."
if his eyes were
made out of
crystal, it
would all be cracked
and crazed,
like stained glass windows,
no longer sacred,
and not even sure of profane.

--Carl Miller Daniels