Cylindrical Sex Seconds

Everything I said about a boy singing to me still holds: He is a boy in a man's body. His song is the same- the nuances slight. No matter how many time I hear this album I want to listen just one more time. The song never changes in reality, but playing it again is comforting.

In the end, it is lying for something that is probably not as rare as it seems. Lying that its more than it is; lying because it is only sex: like that movie Same Time Next Year.

At the time, my brain says, "This may be the last time you get sex..." and then the small voice of left-over mania says, "Take it!" as if I were a squirrel. I have had it once again; I have had seconds!

The loudest track of all is the one that sings that I am not number one; I get merely seconds; I am only seconds.

That CD sits on the shelf for ages and when it's finally listened to again, it's as if I never stopped listening. Turning around and around. Second by second, time ticks by- moment by moment as my brain is in bliss: those sex seconds. Somewhere, there is another record which sounds as sweet. One which I can enjoy learning each of its nuances over time. One which becomes comfortable and well-worn-in in my mind and in myself. (I know: I AM my brain!)