In Monotone

I see that he has commented upon every author Whose prose wears a seductive face, drawing him in; Nakedness, embracing, and a theory of moonlight Conspiring to fasten lovers together as one There is no physicality left to the invention of his daily life That one element has been subtracted, without a quorum And so he searches throughout the long, touchless days Hoping for a fragment of release; just the hint of a caress In the monotonicity of others words, and their opaque worlds Everywhere I go, it seems he has already been there before me Stealthily pawing, dissecting the glint from the lover's eye, Squeezing the nectar from out the gullible peach: Removing the climax itself, with a single click of his hole-punch The sense of his need is oppressive; it weights me down, Reaches into my various night time excursions, a queer dissatisfaction The inverted diagram, of a number of flailing arms and legs Above which a single eye always predates, watching, Straining ever, to catch the money shot.