Miracle Bubbles

Reversed perspective projection
behind some old Castlevania
curtain wall, I sit jumping,
leaning through cubed spike
bricks, until the HUD flashes
clear and I’m out of bounds
now, the enormous flat plane
skyline revealed, that gritty
zipper now naked
and at my feet,
ured platforms in a series
going down, unseen and stupid.
Two ground pounds
later, Indian-legged,
I jerk off my jeans and
pull out my dick,
but the portcullis grid sticks to my
shoelaces, and from way down
below, from the middle of
that fractal basin, miracle
bubbles burst upward,
all in a rush,
and I can’t feel my whip
and my health is so heavy.

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