Blank Line [prose poem]

5:11 AM I woke from the dream in which the young woman using her body against me had no sex feeling in any of her sex organs. Not her clitoris not her labia not her thighs her legs her breasts the backs of her hand when she held them against my face nor her lips her eyes she had always been that way every moment of her life even if she was only beautiful twenty-six starlet driving after me on the road as I dropped my wooden cane again and again tears on her face no sex in her tears or her laughter and cruelty I missed the cruelty whenever we had sex between her legs…long, long memories made of this sex.
She so wanted sex. I so wanted sex. She wanted the feeling of sex. I wanted my own sex the sex I felt in every movement of my body at day and months at a time Sempter Erectus Alice called me 50 y 40 ans ago I had an erection for 187 days in a row once I told myself wondering why the sex in my fingers and tongue the hairs on my beard the thought of her and her sustained and distracted me so fully. But I never learned to talk erotic I could talk dirty I could arouse with language I guess but that had no effect on my autoerotic response to the sex in on of my body. And I never talked about sex in my poems in my essays left sex out of the conversation unless it was the subject of the conversation…
That is why I was so confused when I told her in the bar that I was feeling amorous that she said she could get laid anytime she wanted men are so hungry – so confused because my almost omnipresent sexual feeling of my environment and anything in it only overlapped my need for male-female relations I didn’t want to see a doctor I wanted to apologize when she asked me if I liked it when she stripped bare in her bedroom before going out to the hot tub with the others skinny-dipping or the universal she in Sumeria sunsetting across the plains below the mountain where our species ran and sat and ran and sat and ran and ran in the mirror.