Tuesday, 3 March 2015

The Massage

The Massage
Granite elbows dig in
To soft flesh
Rod-like fingers poke and prod
At unknown sore spots
Forearm planks
Drag across smarting sinews

Pleasure and pain are felt simultaneously
Pain explodes from taught muscles
Dreaminess and pleasure ensue
Floating weightlessly
Time and space cease to exist
The fog of La-la land slips in
Continued pressure
Cause muscles to snap crackle and pop
Nothing penetrates the fog
Of La-la land

An indeterminate age later
A call from beyond the fog
Brings reality crashing back
Space and time exist again
Only an a hour has passed,
A calming peaceful hour.

It is done.
The pain and pleasure have ended.
Only memories remain.
Yet the allure
Of that painfully pleasant time

© Phil Renaud 2015