Masturbation. - Poem by Mary X
There are times when you simply
cannot do anything.
You lay there in Medusa’s
ugly vision, sat in granite
with nothing apart from
the breast you are touching.
It isn’t even a breast,
just a pocket of air
that your mind urges you to think is
a beautifully sculpted woman.
That doesn’t matter though,
we find our pleasures
whether it be a candle’s tone
a man’s fingering hand
or the piece of gentle anatomy
that you have held in your pocket.
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