he said/she said

I.

he says

this ass
is as soft
as a buttermilk
buscuit,
and makes me
want to come
quick.

spill this
shit all
over it,
spit,
lick,
and stick
in my dick.

man, that body's
sick.
makes me wanna
do rude shit:
screw these two
boobs
to rub
balls between,
mean schween
to make her scream
obscene.
shift my shaft
to ride this
rift
in this ass
and put
my palms
all
places
they don't
belong.

where have
I been
to miss this
gift, girl?

she makes
this mast shaft
dick spit shit quick.
she jacks my mojo
and makes me echo
mad flow.

II.

I hope he's
fit for this.

sick nit wits
sit dimwitted
spit
dumb shit
in this direction.

this chick
doesn't take
shit.

she
scratches
a foulscowl
word bath
bitch back
trash
at this
mr. slimjim
dickstick.
Mr.
joke.
Mr.
guitar
pick prick
I'd rip
to package
in a pickle jar.

Spit that shit
far from
my ears
and sit his
ass on all fours
like the damn
dog
you've devolved
into

wag that crap
somewhere else.

you wish,
mister come
quick.

a note to shannon

please don't
read these
treats
without
caffeine.

I know you
wait to
see
these new
pieces
with parceled
patience
but please,
have coffee
first.

I birthed
this batch
of beautiful
words
for you
to bathe
between;
bask
in bountiful
fields of
phrases
to frolic
within

But don't
forget
the liquid
coke.

I know when
you awoke
your mind was
broke,
hay hair
pointing everywhere
and flood pant
pajamas
slipping past
your buttcrack;

how can you
expect to
read this
with exactness?
you should
not try this
stuff at home
in sleep comas.

plug into
your potion
then spread
this poetry
like lotion.

love you.

I won't wear lipstick for you anymore

I have
lipstick
on my cheek,
sweet feet,

he whispers
discreetly
and sneaks
a finger
to swipe
my cosmetics
southwards.

what's
the rush
to remove my
rouge,
mister
rugged?

does my
crimson
lipped kiss
dismiss your
notions of
manliness?

I've barely
branded
bare skin
to sing
with delicious
sins
before
you erase
this score.

I won't wear
lipstick
for you
anymore.
you think
this kissing
thing is such
a chore

please don't
be surprised
next week
when I've found
new cheeks
to piece
my lips
upon

deep sea diving

what is this
aggressive
shape
snaking
inside
his trousers?
please,
asks,
pump this
plump
protrusion
to plug
with blood,
and pounce this.

I ponder the possibility:
could my mouth
pronounce
around it?
Oh
lips open
overt,
slide
over
and
around an
eel-ish
organ,
a fleshy
skin fish
swims
in juices
after a
joust with
my mouth

his pleasure
package
skinfish
seems
to finish quick

ripe

like the snake,
you wait
for me to scale
you.
these trees'
leaves
gleam unseemly
green
where you greet me.

impale me
please,
priapus,
this fruit
you suggest
oozes
juices
too tempting to
resist.

I've
invested
in your sin,
slithered across
those glistening
stripes
strapped
to a trap
and a
trip
to hell

we will
set ablaze
this place,
disgrace
decency's
dogma raw
and thaw this
once icey
law.

the game

I.
this game awaits
us to face.
we smile
sames
from far
away
where it is
safe
and feign
this front
for the public.

steer those
stares across me
owning
and I will pretend
not to notice.

this onus
upon us grows
as we slide
closer

II.
spill sideways
through this lightless
place
and
place those palms
where you'd like.
this skin
is a gift
for you to taste
and I am
your fruit,
ripe for the licking.

you'll
peel me free
of this pretense
and please this
skin a
brand new bliss.


III.
let's
embrace
a game
where we both
win

monsoon season

new hands
hurdle these
dry lands.
scotched skin
swallows
your sin
as you reside
inside
me.
plant these
seeds
to flower
a fire
that burns
between us,
a furnace
to further us,
and reign
electricity
to weave through
craving veins.

we deserve
to desert
these
sands;
a desert of
desperation
departs
our hearts
and we can
bask against
this new
skin.