all afternoon

we swallowed six shots
and fucked
licked and sucked
booze and you.
I watched as you blew
hot rum breath
breathed hot down bodies
sweat
and sex.
limbs amesh and
screaming flesh.
grasping hands like
spiders danced
groped
grabbed like rope.
crush my tits
into your mouth
devour them down
then move south:
crowd into my cunt
stiff grunt.
your cock and rocks
slap a beat symphonic
we wriggle and writhe
zig zag through the sack
lips pressed to neck
as
nails dig through back.
hump and pump
grab
my ass
fastened in hands.
smash and clatter
clasp
collapse
and laugh.

good fuck.

fuel

I balloon
hot
like baked dirt
as rage licks
my insides.

I will combust,
a pepper flame,
and gorge
on everything
whole

and bask
in the now
crumbling,
ashy trail
of pieces
that once were.

Pardon my mess.

love poem

I love you.
Seriously.

Your kinked black back hair
sends me on a magical journey.

And when you remove your shirt
to expose those soggy pecs
and use the corners of our dry wall
to scratch your back,
I grow weak at the knees.

You're still sexy,
even after all these years.
My heart beats quick
at night
in the dark
when you remove your
saggy white hanes
and hang them over the fan.
I can hardly contain myself.

I even love the hair sprouting
from your
badass
closed up
once-pierced ear.

Man of my dreams.

bored in february

Thank you, valentine,
for the crimson roses
and the velvet box
of chocolate.
And that teddy bear
holding the stuffed pink heart
with lace
that said,
I love you.

they were fine.

Sure
I love you,
too.

apology

I am sorry for those
disparaging remarks

about everything.

you are not fat
or ugly.
your thighs are perfect.
you have a lovely smile.

I am sorry.
I should be.
I should mean it.

I'm sorry I feel this way,
really.
God is so generous
and here I am

just spitting
on everything.

I'm so sorry.

roadkill

I know when it is finally spring
or fall
when animals
by the dozen
lie dead in the road.

I witness a
naive forage into our world
gone terribly wrong
as a poor raccoon
or rabbit
has succumbed
to the hot rubber
and exhaust
of rush hour.

do we notice
as two tons of luxury steel
demolishes life
into a hot stew
that drags for miles
?

it will be spring soon
and a part of me has already died.

socially retarded

"do you have a web?"

I have introduced myself,
again.

"Charlotte? Well, you don't
look
like a spider!"

haha.
how clever of you.

this is why I stay
at home.