In the dark of night, I grasp it, first with one hand, then both, as if I grab you as the throb of that wakes me from dream, feeling your heart beat as well as my own, I feel the softness of it first, then as I imaging you, the touch of you, the clinging sweating moment before things happen, it grows stiff, I feel as it presses against you, like a baton in some midnight parade, a celebration I must whip up for myself, imagine what it is like, feeling it against my skin, your skin, soft, trembling as I tremble and grow hard. I grip it with both hands and shake it out of me, this midnight need, this desperate feeling I can’t get for real, woken by it, stroking it to make it go asway, all of this pressing against you, as if there is still hope for real resolution when all I have are my own hands.
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