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

Incredibly,

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

Endures.

© Phil Renaud 2015