My Tiny Penis

Light travels the length of my erect penis
in eighty-two billionths of a second,
but thousands of microns are needed to measure its girth.
It weighs about one hundred trillion picograms.
At some appropriate point in excited time
eight to ten grams of ejaculate course through
the somewhat dwarfed urethra, at a speed
comparable to Lance Armstrong on level ground
riding a bicycle and not trying very hard.

It has a corona, which doesn’t compare well
in size to that of the sun. It has a glans penis,
however, that at times seems to fill the universe.
It has other parts, but thankfully is not quite
as complicated as an old Ford. Can you
imagine a pickup having dual corpus cavernosa,
like me? Or a corpus spongiosum?
Constructed of vascular sinusoids?
Each encased in a tunica albuginea?

I don’t know what kind of mileage I have on it,
but at 9,000 strokes to the mile, it may get
three miles a year or so. I no longer have
a prepuce; I had one for a day, at most.
I think it was donated to NASA, which launched it
toward Saturn, which is bigger than my tiny penis,
bigger even than Earth. I want a bigger one.
If she starts to love me, I think it will grow big
like a blue whale’s, bigger even than me.

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