Like the cloud that produces no rain,
The sun that no longer provides warmth.
Like the throat that no longer sings,
The eye that no longer sees beauty.
So dangles my member
Bereft of purpose
An aimless wanderer
A drunken soldier
Telling stories of long-ago battles
In faraway lands.
My penis wakes with a start,
looks around, confused.
A thief in the night
With nothing to steal.
No sports or sex for a week, the cutter said. So no hockey this weekend. As for the sex, well then, I wonder if she'd believe it if I told her that after this week I was told to do it thrice weekly for a few months.