Dick

For years, it seems only
a plughole for the sink
the body pulls urgently
to distract one into
an awareness of functionality.

And then it speaks of pleasure;
Scritchily wakeful when awareness
of other bodily functions come.

And so a time of testing arises
from the flaccid sponge-spout
to the emergent shine of blood-
engorgement, making sensory
self-awareness immediate. Shoot out.

And thus the mess starts.
As hairier it becomes probing
of entranceways to flesh and souls.

Its pungency wells up inside:
A pleasure-plunger. A cheap aside.
And this is invasion or possibly
the ultimate sharing of life.

In this moment of selfish pleasure
when the self is lost
and Life is passed, Death is passed
and I circulate, pleasure-trodden
I have filled one more hole.

Another hole, another loss
I fill a space where
through chemistry
a life may be.