formal thank-you letter not necessary for this gift

all the leaves fell off,
and their branches looked like
naked reaching arms, grabbing
for the sky. the tree bark
was cold and scratchy, and
the moss that was perched upon it
was brittle and
wispy, not soft
and green, but gray,
and harsh in texture,
as well as in tone.
oh how the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
longed for summer,
as he stood in the forest,
in the sunniest spot he could
find, but the air was still chilly
as he stood there in
the glow of the late-autumn sun,
tugging on his big hard dick,
tugging
with less enthusiasm than
he tugged on it in the summer,
when the sweat ran down
his back and butt
and dripped off his
balls and ran down his lean
muscular legs.
now, the bare branches
above him,
and all the leaves down on the ground,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
tugged on his dick
and waited for the electro-jolt of
wet sloppy orgasm,
and,
when it hit,
he spurted about 18 cum spurts
up against the bark of a nearby
tree, and watched the blotches of
his cum drip
down the filaments of
the crispy gray moss.
then, he began to shiver,
and got dressed quickly,
the chilly breath of
insistent winter
poking around inside
his nostrils,
licking the
lust right out
of his lungs.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)