Sue me, I guess, kill me, hate me, mess me up,
Have your say, judge me as you see fit,
I have no excuses: I’m a goddamned man!
Kingdoms of love forbid me enter,
And yet your posterior surely calls out
Like what gods employ to wake the dead—
A loaf of bread to feel at home—life’s goal to
Kiss that spot only offered to the chosen,
Such gifts to die for, no less than soft words
Hanging pink upon your tongue. I can’t help it,
My body goes into convulsions when you walk
Amid averages, hair wrapped on your head,
Nature’s own style improving the pavement.
Since your beauty exceeds what’s necessary,
How ‘bout I try to make you explode?
If that’s not too much to ask, I mean, let’s talk,
Kick off a briefly glorious orgasmic moment
Always to be there, nostalgia’s muse, ruses
Like the kind that get you hot at night, wet
All alone, eyes rolled back, tinglings, all those
Knife-wound ticklings already well-rehearsed,
Sworn to secrecy, fingers feel for it, drum,
Hit the spot: a flick, a strum to make the juice
Mill run as from a punctured orange, fatly ripe,
Aimed at my face, targeting my tongue—mercy
Needs no awakening in a bottom like yours.
Say it: you believe you’re beautiful, hot.
Have you considered what it means to be beautiful?
It’s not having the most delicious bellybutton,
Kissable and loveable and lickable, it doesn’t
Always mean happy loins (had my fate’s
Love struck a different year, perhaps my own
Agonies might be quelled while your pink
Kindnesses dole charity in succumbing
Sweetly to quake-making machinery, hung
Hopes hard as stone as you crisscross the yard
Mimicking goddesses of old when we all felt
A trembling, a shuddering, our knees buckling,
Now dizzy as you pass, so just beyond reach).
Somehow tonight I restrain myself, I cope, I
Hold myself back because the face you look into
Isn't the one I’m looking out of, the body’s mask
Keen for fragrances, sweet aroma of an ass’s
Angel, endless pleasure protected by layers
Layered in style, fitted to the felicities of spirit—
Am I a machine? Programmed? De-? Pre-?
Klieg lights shine, I whine to stay amid the wall
Shadows, unseen as electric pulses, working
Hobo of non-deeds, a gelded breed Hollywood-
Made from clay whose origins can be traced
As far back as your last lover’s face, stirring
Nirvana’s fingertips wetted by an apparition.
See, naturally, I shouldn’t be willing
Hell’s fantasies, puckered genitals at my lip;
Imagination as self-abuse! The tongue’s
Karma-tip plunging cavities, wiggling round,
Ain’t exactly a crime, is it? So human, this
Lazy surrender: I’m at your mercy! Please
Annihilate me! Make me thy commode!
Kill me, drain me in a pool of steaming
Sex beneath your feet, soaked by dripdrip
Hammers of joy, ready to drop, to be
Martyred for the sharpening of each nerve
Aimed like an arrow, to make another
Negligible peace with the needle’s eye.
Say that beauty is why, merely to love it,
(Hey, isn’t ugly sad? But where’s the fix?)
Indeed, learning it to become it, to rise up
Krypto-godly, absorbing colors, sounds, feelings
Advancing nonstop. Nomad orgies seed
Languorous pauses on pillows of misfit lust
As your toes get kissed, my lashes learn
Karaoke as incendiary perfumes, lovemusks
Sail like scarves mimic the wind flipping
Hair from your eyes; goddess carved of sun!
Madness seizes, too sensual our senses—
Amateur mystics who failed to look away,
Noosed by the heartbreak-lovely of an ass.
Shall I spread your wings, lick your exit hole?
How about while also doing that, right there?
If greenlighted, I’d work thee to a shudder.
Knot of muscle, life’s door an inch away: nectar
Amended with sweat, shit, piss, soup-salt
Ladled for inhalation; molecules on the tongue,
Along the lips, the breath of your seat. Zat o-
Kay? But why should I not think of having it,
Shagging it, who cares how it makes your jeans
Hug more style than another’s loss, less
Made for that next phase, that next stage of
Animal-games played as angels: I close my eyes,
Nearer now to those indecencies I'm blind for.
So much in life to let go its merry way, its
Heyday never to come, never to plumb
Itself against the crooked wall, always uprightly
Keeping to the proper stance, the appropriate
Angle of approach. How nice to set my eyes
Languidly to glancing for deep yet brief trances
As you make your way from place to place.
Knowledge is nothing without the fluids!
Some days all my hours are given to dreams
Heaven-aimed in a dense forest of animals
Mapping the treetops with song, your beautiful
Ass as hot as two brown buns from the oven
Nicely proffered on a blanket of wet moss.
Nicely proffered on a blanket of wet moss.