Psychosomatic Orgasm Pacifist mosquitoes grant me psychosomatic blow jobs as they swarm in between my periphery amongst the musky anticipation of drizzle,
I lift a lonely finger and follow its flighty flotation to and fro,
and follow it too with my eyes
each zag it takes
zigs each eye intogether til they cross,
mosquito fly straight away lost
no longer caught
up in my net of sight
and as eyes twitch they tweak my brain
prod neurons like cattle til they’re scattered insane,
herd into my prostate trample my jissom,
spurting of static impulses,
the word is psychosomatic
the word is orgasm,
so I lean head back in purple pillow on the hammock,
point to a new mosquito
which hovers
straight up over my head
til my arm can no longer reach

The ascendant transcendent
Nature of Ecstasy