Transition

The flower of you is a kaleidoscope
I place my hand on your breast

An interlude
My mind rages in a blood rush
Behind my eyes across my skull
Down it flows
Building to release

I know the rush to pleasure
Inside of you
The act is physical
The spray
Lives or dies
If it lives we replicate
If it dies we merely copulate

I know the joy of progeny
Also the pleasure narcissism
My children will tell you
That I was a bad father
My X-wife wiping her brow
I was a narcissist
And I live with the pain of that