back-alley Wednesdays

the white liquid blasts
with sounds of ahh!
a row of cum-filled men
so gallantly streaming
into the air
from cannons size six to ten

their faces are frozen
their lips are bared
their muscles are flexed and taut
there's no other moment
that's frozen in time
that memory's so magically caught

white glistening streams
like lightening strikes
electrify the scene
it's like a church service
and chorus sings praise
a Wednesday night routine

the camaraderie
of men who replay
these moments of cum commune
to free their elixir
from anxious ball sacks
beneath the bright full moon