x-ray

globs of discontinuity exploded from the
tip of his penis and left him gasping
and transmogrified into a floating
shelf of woodland debris, leafy mold
clinging to the tips of his toes and
soft lichen wedging its way up
his furry little asshole.  he
stood there shocked by the shrift of
it, the fact that he was tall and
thin and sexy of course entering into
the wholisticness of it all,
the shaft of his dick sturdy
and smooth, the head of his
dick purplish and plummish
in its appeal, the dexterity
of fingers so skillfully applied,
torridly wielded, nests of
soft curly hair under his
slender sexy arms and wispy
there on the skin over his
sternum in the center of his
smooth nicely contoured chest,
the pubic hair mossy, sphagnum,
tufted organicity, there
in the middle of the greenhouse,
surrounded by light, and
soil, and smelly wet plants. it
was his favorite place for
eventful-fraught communion
with self and sex-urges
and sex-urge-driven activities.
weekends he was in charge
there, no one else, spanish
moss dangling from the palms,
aphrodisiacally touching the
blades of his wide pink shoulders.

--Carl Miller Daniels