the sticky revery of remembrance Sept. 22, 2013

 

Her fingers drip with it,

even in her imagination,

gripping too hard until

it burst in her hands,

not sweet so much

 as bitter sweet,

 like all love is,

still she doesn’t let go,

holding onto it,

 feeling it throb,

 each beat of it

to the beat of her heart,

her rapid breathing,

the groan she hears

 she emits

as she keeps hold,

 not one bit of this real,

 save in the memory

of what once was,

 that perfect moment

 she says she

could have died for,

perhaps a part of her did,

part of her that went with him,

 part of her like him,

never came back,

 leaving her with

the sticky revery

of remembrance

the wish for it all

to happen again,

 clinging moist fingers

on something

 too slick to grip,

 a memory of love,

of a man she still loves,

dripping through her fingers,

and he may be dripping, too.

 

email to Al Sullivan

Pump up the volume

 The pills the doc gave me after the surgery never really worked, these low dose medicine designed to keep me aroused and yet did nothing,

When I really wanted something, even if I could not do anything with anybody after the result ,

I just want to see if I could still get it up like that when I think of her, 

The way I got it up sometimes like I did those nights whenit's still was possible to do something ,

So I started doubling the dose and felt the tingles there  if not quite a balloon , more so what I looked that old photos, not the nude ones but the ones in when she was going out and I imagined her being with someone else ,

It's hard to feel like a cuckold with nothing else is possible,

So i increased the dose again, just to see what would happen, just to see if the tingling amounted to more than just a twitch,

And I felt something more, growing inside and outside me, and finally I had it, more for medicin recommended, and more of a tingle that turned into something much better and themore I coveted her photos, the more intense it became until I pumped up the volume pointlessly, alone and yet somehow satisfactory

Backfire July 2, 2012

 

I deliberately sent the email to her,

thinking she would not see it

until she got back,

a release about an event

 I knew she could not cover

while on vacation,

I asked her permission if I could,

a shitty bit of slight of hand,

despite to keep open

the door of communication

to inform her I was still alive

if not thriving, and maybe

my mean streak showing

to stick a barb in the pleasing

memories she would later

 carry away from her time

 with someone else.

So much more was the shock

when she responded,

 since she was not supposed

 to have access remotely

from the account I sent

the email to,

more shocking,

 her off the cuff answer

telling me to do what I wished,

 a can of worms

I refused to open

when what I wished for

 she would never give,

my little game back firing in my face.

email to Al Sullivan

Orbits (2014)

  

We float in a weird place

Like silver-sided satellites

In orbits we can’t predict

Nor reject

I am dawn to her

Shinning skin

The shell she’s adopted

The eyes,

Glinting with sunlight,

The only way inside

I touch the surface

And it seems cold

Distant,

Unavailable,

As she plunges

Around some other

Greater,

More mysterious body,

To which she has

Attached herself,

While I,

Much lesser, orbit

Around her,

Aching to feel

Warmth in her

Cool skin,

To get inside

Her shell,

To feel what

She really feels like

But her orbit

Steals her away.

 

email to Al Sullivan

Like a woman June 4, 2026

 I did it just to keep the blood, I tell myself, feeling convulsions through my whole body, perhaps the way a woman feells it, without the seed ,

A man can only torture himself so much for so long before he has to give in, even with the poor excuse of making it all flow,

Convulsions rippling through my body in the night, strange, different maybe the way a woman feels it, maybe just my imagination, clutching my manhood both hands, nothing coming out but convulsing anyway, all the way down deep in the bones, in the stomach, in the chest flowing up into my brain like a drug,

Is this really how it all happens, when you're not dependent on the one place to come out of, when bad plumbing forces the whole revolution to stir you up all over, making you shutter, making you feel different, making you feel just like a woman

Chaste for a good cause June 3, 2026

 

 

I’ve done this before, of course, if not for so long, and perhaps never before with the help of my prostate, in between times of chastity when I let more hormones go insane, on the presumption that I was somehow saving myself, rare moments between the much longer times when I stroked myself blind.

With a man it’s complicated. His libido might be going haywire, but unable to get the mechanism to function right, never stiff enough for long enough to be effective.

Chasitity hotwires the libido and creates the illusion that I could do it if I wished to do it, but since I’m being chaste, I choose not to, when that’s a load of hogwash.

The surgery to reduce the size of the prostate screwed up the mechanism, too, leaving the libido to go hog wild while the plumbing got confused, the seed and the pee somehow confused in the pipes so nothing comes out right, and I’m sometimes tempted to take the other route through the backdoor where some say a man can milk his prostate with results almost as good as the front door. But that’s a little gay, I think, allowing my libido to do what it does, fog up the windshield, and fool me into thinking I can still do what I used to do, when most likely, I can’t.

email to Al Sullivan

In the dim light (2014)

 

 In my mind,

I dim the light

Let you glow

In the flicking

Of candles,

The shine

In your eyes

Or on your lips

Like wild fire.

I am the forest

Through which

Your flames rip

In the dim light,

I touch your bare

Shoulder with

My finger tips,

My callouses against

A surface so smooth

I ach from contact,

Feeling sparks rise.

In the dim light,

I bend close

And touch your lips

With mine,

Measuringthem

The way a tailor

Might to see

How well they fit,

How good you taste,

How potent being

Near you is.

In the dim light,

I lay you down,

My hands on

Each shoulder,

My chest against yours,

Feeling the earth

Tremble as

We come

Together

email to Al Sullivan