Warning: "R" Rated Poem

I stroke this poem like a cock
It gets hard and soft
It likes to be touched
It starts out short
Gets longer from attention
Then, in the manner of all cocks,
wants so deeply to be more than itself
To represent some devine expression
On a big spinning rock
In a wide empty void...

It hangs around in between my minstrations
Contemplating it's potential variations
Fueled by fantasy, vision, mirage
It feels it has eyes of it's own
That see much more than my blinkers

This poem likes to be pulled on
til it stretches
It likes to be pushed into new spaces
some of them are hard and bright
some of them are soft and warm
some of them are closed up tight
and take more effort to conquer
some of them surround this poem
Enveloped in the results of it's own exploration
This poem is often surprised at where it ends up

The friction is an act of creation
How could they call this masturbation?
When me and the keyboard have poetical sex
The universe is revealed as dynamically complex....