Doing Without
by john e

My loneliness begins with scent's absence
While my body is still; private craving
Fills the air with an imagined incense
Till my worship's no longer worth saving
For a slow savor.  I dwell on my curve,
And paradox of self-subjugation,
Till philosophy falls away.  I serve
Myself a menu of you, a ration
As bountiful as memory allows.
Soon, your scent folds my fingers, their tips touch
The hard under, now over, and all 'hows'
And 'whys' turn to stroking, squeezing, so much
More. Imagine me here, naked, pumped through
Ecstatic throes of need, spending for you.