Tantric Sprint
the orgasm that never ends
We made love the whole morning…
or was it only an hour?
Ten minutes?
Time dissolved in the impassioned grunts, groans, and occasional screams of “CUNT!”
while he spanked my hot boy-40 ass
until I nearly shot my fucking load all over him…
But we saved it all
for Walt Whitman
I pulled Leaves of Grass down off the shelf, as we trod down the steps, then out through a field of clover,
buck-ass naked
to our favorite coffee place
beneath the oaks and hickories.
***
We call love-making sessions like this one “Tantric sprints”—
fast and fervent,
yet without end.
The fervor and passion of an ass-slapping good time is still fully ALIVE…
even when our bodies touch the cool green Earth.
***
The book randomly opens to a page Whitman devoted to the human soul…
and I read to him.
Now, I'm crying, holding his hand…
This life is so full, so overflowing
with love
passion
and bounty
Gay-Men and Hallelujah!