Narcissus

 

Eyes closed, I lie on my back

Following their arms mentally

As the masseurs run their fingers

Pressing, squeezing, rubbing in

The warm oil all over me.

 

From the sole of my feet, up

Through the ankles, calves, knees

And thighs, passing deftly

My privates and up to the torso

My hairy, broad chest, shoulders

And the nape of my neck. 

 

The loincloth barely leaves me clothed.

As the masseur's fingers and then the pouch

Filled with medicinal leaves soaked in starchy fluid

Spread warmth all over me,

I wonder if I might get an erection;

I don't. 

 

Turning me over, the warm oil and then

the slimy starch draw gluey patterns on my back.

My buttocks, rather big,

Now smooth, soft, rounded like melons.

The masseur squeezes that lump,

The inflammation still hot on my hips;

I squirm and groan, in pain and pleasure. 

 

Eyes closed, I lie on the wooden plank

Like a slab of meat, fresh from the butcher.

Eyes closed, I imagine myself

Watching me from above. 

 

This hunk of flesh that is me

That has been me, that'll me

For so many years!

We have been together ever since

The day I was born! 

 

I love it; with all its shortcomings.

I adore my penis, how so well I know him!

Every strand of hair, every scar, every wrinkle -

This living, breathing being that is me! 

 

There is nothing hidden, no secrets between us;

We took pleasure, pain we suffered together -

That is me, this me, together till the last breath! 

 

I look at myself with great kindness...

 

***** Bala Chandran V. Trivandrum. 07/07/2020