Treasure Island

Darrell Gahm


the water, hot like a thousand suns,
runs over my sore and tired body,
caressing my neck, my shoulders, my cock,
like an invisible lover,
tantalizing and stimulating,
yet entirely inaccessible,
and I am the orchid of spring,
welcoming the cool rains of growth,
breaking the frozen soils of a long,
cold winter,
the steaming mist curls around me,
covering me like the early morning
fogs of London,
the world is washed away,
there is no war, no famine,
there is no evil in my world,
if only for this moment.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 22, 2006

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