It is still the same urgency, and the same question as to how
it might be resolved, no one to relieve it but myself, and that often a
disappointing resolution, dripping out instead of a gush, despite the same effort
and heat, like a Gennie in a Bottle that promises to fulfill all my wishes, but
if I rub too hard or for too long, what pops up is only a ghost of what I want.
Do we leave it, refuse to stroke it, let it brew on its own, this potency I crave,
must appease, or have it bring me to my knees, not her fault, she’s just the
match that lights the fuse to something that has always existed, waiting to explode,
this Gennie in a bottle, this urgency that consumes me.
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