They tell me it helped people with prostate problems; so, I
do it often and think of you.
It’s like riding a bicycle, they tell me, you never forget,
or a car with a gear shift I grip harder than I have to when I go for a ride
each night before sleep, in that limbo where I can see clearly see your face
floating above me, as I treat my ailment, a balm to sooth all that makes me
ache, slipping finally into dreams the moment sleep comes, this diet of
self-satisfaction I believe will cure all that ails me, and it almost does,
like sailing down this river of life in a row boat, both hands clutching the
oars, and in the midst of it, when it comes over me like a fit, I wonder what I
did before I had you to inspire it, stroking the cool water of this river with my
oar tip, again and again, stirring up the froth that I think keeps me whole, a
prostrate treatment done with you always in mind.
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