punctuating

the supposition that
life here on earth
is a few punctuation marks
of pure bliss
marking passages of
otherwise limitless boredom
and despair
is
built on a sexual model.
**
i mean, take a cute naked
big-dicked young man.
he is physically able
to spurt cum, in his
prime, 5 maybe 6 times
a day.
**
assumption: these (let's
be generous) 6 episodes
of cum-spurting in any
single given day all
occur as a result of acts of
solitary masturbation.
**
nonetheless: these 6 bouts
of cum-spurting feel
incredibly incredibly
good. he stands there
naked hot and sweaty,
blood pounding, working
his big hard smooth cock
until it spurts a few
globs of cum, and during
those seconds of cum-spurting,
he's the happiest most blissful
guy in the world.
**
then, that punctuation mark
having been laid down, the rest of
the day continues, i.e., the rest of
the passage, continues --
drearily and drearily on until
he's ready to bare his
big smooth cock and spurt
some more hot gooey drippy cum.
**
i'm just saying that
the highs of life, the
moments of pure unfettered &
passionate joy, are few
and far between.
**
if you think those are
the only things that make
a day worthwhile, for instance,
then, by comparison, the
rest of each and every day
is just one big blah expanse
of blahness.
**
people who want joy all
the time, every moment
of every day, often
go crazy hoping that
life will eventually
be that way. they often
go crazy hoping that
joy of the kind
exemplified in a
sexy good-looking
naked young man having a really
great orgasm and spurting
big gooey droplets of cum,
that kind of joy will
be permanent, all the time,
day in and day out.
**
some people are
just
wishing and wishing
and wishing life could
be like that, one extended
cum-spurt, one jolt of
pure white-hot pleasure,
every moment.
every day.
**
wishing n wishing n wishing.
**
too much wishing, that'll
drive ya crazy, too.
**
sometimes he lies on his
back, pulls his knees over
his head, aims the tip
of his dick toward his
mouth, and tries to
hit his tongue when he
cums. variety is important,
but some things, well,
they remain pretty much constant.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Zen Baby, Issue #20, alas the final issue, 2009.)