Gather........ Prose Poem

My mid thinks about it all the time,

Its aroma,

Its texture,

It's varies shapes of mood

How soft its flesh feel as it lays limp in the palm of my hand

How pliable it is when its flaccid

How my fingers can swirls it in a large circle, dangle it in the air

Then there's that I don't know mood,

Its stiff but not hard,

It feels firm but not solid,

Its flesh is stretch but not enough to uncover its big head,

It points straight without rising itself up,

While making my mind anticipate