As of late, and for quite a while,
I have craved the sensation of an orgasm.
Masturbation really rather suits my style
But I think I’ve been blind to the dark door-chasm.
After fantasizing about them for quite some time
I come to realize that the pleasure they induce
Is, for the most part, insignificant and unsublime.
Yet I masturbate quite often without any excuse.
I am often puzzled by the longing my body feels
For something so mundane and melancholy
And I think, for the first time, in such a lovely reveal
That what I’m truly after is love, not Hell and folly.
I wish, I wish, in the deepest part of myself
For love with another person, not a desirable phantasm
And I think I’m coming to realize, in my spiritual self,
That the warm embrace of a lover is, in itself, the true orgasm.