8:30 am

Enforced wanking, daily: half past eight,
Else I will not survive the day.
The rubbing puts me in a different state

In which the longing stays away –
Well, at least it may –
Until another day grows late.

It's after waking from the bliss
Of dreams back to reality,
When all the hormones cry for this:

A woman's kiss and vanity,
Her shameless sexuality,
Her smile, her breath the things I miss.

Then segregation of some viscid glue
Images blur and disappear,
And while the body feels: It was not true,

The brain begins to think about
That luckily I was not loud:
My neighbor could not hear what I did do.