A long childhood,
Made me a mental virtuoso.
Leaving a life-long residue,
Of emotional immaturity.
Eros ruled the first Freudian stage,
The pleasure of creating.
Something of my own.
Libidinal drives heightened.
Adrenalin surge, blood pressure peaks,
No fight, nor flight.
But ectasy, climatic completion.
Albeit sex, the most pleasurable experience.
Some may call it a poop,
Others label it a dunk.
Yet in maturity, I profess,
A grand-slam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem