salad days and the plight of too much reason

the lad liked his 'nads --
his own 'nads, that is,
yes, his 'nads, his gonads, i.e.,
his dick and balls --
they were a great source of
pleasure to him.
he enjoyed his 'nads, touching
them, making his dick spurt cum,
the feel of his dick and his balls
underneath his pants when
he walked around, thinking
about them.
**
truth is, the lad liked
the 'nads of other lads, too.
the lad liked to look at
other lads naked, in the
shower at school, shiny, soapy
and frisky all
of them there together. him,
his 'nads, them,
their 'nads, steamy
in the hot jets
of directionalized water.
**
oh yes, the lad certainly
liked his own 'nads,
and the 'nads of other lads,
too. sometimes, when he
was walking around in a mucky haze
of desire and love and sweet
gentle melancholy, he said
to himself "i'm a lad who
likes 'nads, my own, and
those of other lads, too.
is it sad to be a lad
who likes the 'nads of
lads? oh is it sad
to be a lad who likes
other lads' 'nads?" and then he kind of
giggled, quietly, but nervously,
just underneath his breath.
**
when "it" finally happened
for the very first time,
it was a good afternoon
there in bed with
that other lad; heart-beats
fast, fingers sweaty with
sweat, fear, guilt,
joy, love, sex, and
the aroma of two lads' 'nads,
the texture of
soft oily pubic hair a whole 'nother
source of pleasure--
the actual aroma
of two lads' 'nads
never really contemplated
before, but, comparatively
speaking,
remarkable
remarkable
remarkable inhaling
remarkable --
musk, delicacy,
wispy sprite
of daylight dance and prime-A
carrot juice,
fresh dug
topsoil
rich & loamy.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2007)