Many things are like other things

Your mouth is like a well: I drink
The moisture there, remember the
First time, prepubescent and awkward
(the more things change), my boner
Felt huge, pressed against the heavy
Weight denim of my jeans, the pumping
Spurts I filled my underwear with,
They are testament to the raw,
Emotional power that lies
In physical affection, be it
With you, an aunt, or a wayward
Puppy, licking my face, I shoot
A load in my shorts every time.

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