MEMBER

this useless organ

is more than just the end of my non-muscular torso/

a masculine symbol falling
like static pink water

from the last remains of my childish fantasies/

handing the baton over to you,

consecutively losing each person

and struggling to function

from the modern day smoke and mirrors

that hinder our interest

in these games of boys and girls/

toying with thoughts of inadequacy

as you ask me "what's wrong?"/

the longitude and latitude
of the map my bed's become

crossing at all the wrong moments,

momentarily thinking
of the 5th limb that is my member/

before remembering the responsibility
that unfortunately comes
with wielding this weapon

that can be so much more persuasive than sword
or pen

but in between such highs of confidence,

I'm forced to remember

that my member
just means membership
to the WHEN WILL HE TEXT ME BACK

and the empty meanwhiles

of the nights it entertains