Poem of the Week

February 1st, 2009

spectacular fireworks displays did not impress him,
but they did make him horny.
perhaps it was the hot july night, the presence
of all the shirtless young men, in their tight
sexy jeans, the aroma of their sweat mixed with
their overly-zealous deoderant.
he watched the fireworks.
he was a sexy young man himself, mostly
naked tonight, wearing only shorts
and shoes. as the fireworks
went off, he noted those around
him, and decided that this
was a night he would go
to the nearby track, and
run laps, and absorb the musky murkiness
and just the general slinkiness of the night.
so, as the fireworks ended,
hot, horny, and energized, he
headed off for the track, and
arrived there a few minutes
later, where he ran and ran
and ran, not really counting
the laps with the normal
obsessivesness with
which he usually counted them,
though he was vaguely aware when
he hit somewhere around the 3-mile
mark. drenched in sweat, his
shorts clinging to his
butt and hips and dick and balls
with almost obscene precision,
he ran on, and on, and on.
when he hit what he
was pretty sure was mile 6,
he noticed a cluster of
fireflies, flashing their
phosphorescence with
perfect synchrony, and
that's when he
shot a load of cum,
right there in his pants.

ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE. COM

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by Carl Miller Daniels