Look into my dick
It’s the telescope of my soul
And what is that warm smell rising from between my legs?
It must have been a long time since my organs, which obey no fluid,
have shared some of their particles with my pajamas
Could it be that I don’t love it at all
Because it hurts my lower back
Would it be improper, unhuman, lacking virtue, devoid of civilization
to want to empty myself onto it?
To go on living with that layer?
Yes
I’m pissing on myself slowly
No one will ever kiss my dick
My crotch will be a guest to dogs’ noses
Already my hairs have seized my legs, dragging them wherever they please
Advancing uncontrollably through the ever-growing keratin forests
Clearly I’m recognized, somehow word of me has spread
This communication came from beneath my scented pajamas
However this organic bond was formed, it was formed
However it wasn’t melted by my semen, its desires weren’t extinguished
I didn’t drizzle my ideals onto it while tucking the blanket between my legs
so that eggs ripen inside, clinging closest to my ovaries
My dick finally met my hairs’ creators
At last they clashed
Because that’s what they call meeting—clashing
Strange
Yet until that day my teeth (or my women) had…
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