Close your eyes and forget about your reflection.
Dream about the images of others,
other cats and snakes writhing at your lap,
wanting to either suck your cock or chew your balls.
You unzip for them indiscriminately,
waiting for the possibility of a grand finale.
As soon as that couple of drunk girls
touch your dick with their made up lips,
they morph instantly into a pair of old ladies,
sagging everywhere, their bleached blonde hair betraying near baldness.
You feel their wrinkles crawl onto your erection,
even though you’ve ejaculated right away
and the eighty year old dogs are lapping it up,
one collecting more that the other,
the poorer relation having to make do
with sucking the side of your shaft like a consolation bone
while the rich bitch gets the marrow.
A flicker of disgust registers on some far back synapses,
and your realise these wet dream has remained dry;
your mouth is dry, your skin is dry, this room is dry
and all the moisture from your past lovers will not redeem you tonight.
Tonight there are tits and asses and pussies
dancing in the veins of your eyes,
and none have been reached by your sorry phallus,
waving in the centre of a bed like the mast of a ship lost at sea.
Down your sails tonight, sailor, there are no salty waves tonight,
but you will drown nevertheless.