Your body is like the the cab driver
grazing in heated seats, molten metal
amber amethyst. Your contour lines, your “hey there” sound.
lapis lazuli, the cool panama heat, the southern accent behind the driving wind, solely searching free pulsating breathless beauty grasping at the strands of windblown hair, perfection made slowly, powerfully
and also I enjoy the way that your butt feels when we boom-boom

I long for your patient pull
binding rage
cubist, tearing, latent force
your bracing arms supporting asunder the corinth columns of
killing fields of beauty, shouting matches burn my name, her words
filtered cannon, bracing fire, barring the doors to the speak-easy, leaving nothing but
yes, I scream, in torrid thunder, eyes assuming, tidal studded coursing veins
and also I like the way that the side of your butt feels when we boom-boom

You claw across the painted room
Muddy topsoil, free-range, pulsating ripples of desiring
I, reproachful, standing slowly, sonic waves around, around
the die-cast feeling. “As seen on TV”, but I can't forget the way it felt
on top of overdoses, panting sallowed breathless lungs
scuttling the perfection that is your sordid keratin and fetid bones and the way you look in those genes
and also that one time we boom-boomed in the park felt great and I was just thinking about it today

Your eyes on fire
printer's cases, carpeted wonder
the smell and sound of napalm filling my room.
All I want to do
is to do boom-boom.


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