Iíd like to say thank heavens Iím past it.
No more squelch and bump,
thereís no demand. It doesnít matter
if the relevant orifice shrinks, if nipples
lose their touch in desert dust.
But as my wise and ancient aunt
remarks when I confess to her,
it seems that Iím still human after all.
For my unconscious mind continues
wakes with the heaviness
of his imagined weight on my body,
the warmth of his hand over mine,
so real I cannot bear to open my eyes
in case he slips away.
If you have any comments on this poem, Kathy Gee
would be pleased to hear from you.