hit and run

"i think all kinds of thoughts while
i'm jerking off," thinks
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
as he tugs gently on his big smooth dick,
and caresses with gentle fingertips
his smooth slippery hypersexualized
flared-out purple-pink dickhead.
"gallons of bouillon, eaten
by sea squirts, the cucumbers
in the attic being licked
by squirrels," ruminates the
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
as commence orgasm movement thrust
of hips, jitter of toes. the
firing off of rounds: one,
two, three. four. five. six. and
seven.
just stops now.
no more for a
while.
arrives this
unsettling calmness,
fresh post-orgasm
thoughts
commence.  these thoughts, too,
are important. in fact, isn't it true
that all possible thoughts that can be
thought fit into one of
three categories: pre-orgasmic,
orgasmic, or
post-orgasmic.
"the color of fresh cum," thinks
the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boy, post-orgasmically.
"white-ish, but not
really white, is it?"
thinks
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy.
and what, then,
would that color be? he
wonders, could it
be named? categorized?
oyster white, glazed with
the sea.
the actual color, though, loud yet
soft, like
mirage at
sunrise, mist
on the back of a
prize-winning
pony.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2015)