He yanks at tenderly his own—Inspired by Hester Prynne's "Yanks at tenderly"
his prose, his pride, his pose—
as men and boys his age are prone
to do from time to time.
He masturbates in public view
in melancholy hell
and hopes that souls the likes of you
will catch him in his prime—
and no, it’s not a jerking wank
like tics of nervous dicks,
but something else his hand’ll yank
and nothing like a crime
but rather, in his movement, he
appears to rub his tears
that somehow in his movements be
come viscous thick as slime,
as snot, as sniffled mucus rot.
He cries and you surmise
his burdens weigh an awful lot
and what you offer I’m
ashamed to say I never have,
as if my handkerchief
would ever’ve been to much to give
to wipe away his grime.
