my fingers outstretch while contorting and shifting
snatching in pleasure
they jaggedly stumble to a pillow
blood spins though my clutching forearm
this heated pillow is too warm
as much to distract
two moments competing for my attention
like non-identical twins racing to impress mother
this new input forces me to pick a focus
the too warm pillow or pleasure
this deceptively elementary choice haunts
all these moments are truly the same
in this contemplation, an infinite conundrum embarks
this, the contemplation, spawns the third focus and choice
i probe further
can i genuinely exist in a moment? any moment?
what choice am I on now?
six, seven, eight…
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