I hate you
but I think I love your vagina.

My own, dark and mysterious between my thighs
only seen twice a year, days of mirrors and no special occasion
My own seems so far away, pressed into your sheet
I can feel a stirring, but is it really in my sex?
If not in my core, from the tips of my cuticles
to the moles on my back, all my lows and peaks

I stare into your sex
and look up when you say 'stop freaking.
'Aren't you supposed to be faggot?'
And I don't think that word
should be anywhere near
something as lovely as this
smooth slick dark purples
subtle blood and gentle understanding
I lean forward and press my lips
to the center. I need to love
your vagina like it needs to be loved

'What's this?' I ask, pulling at a fleshy petal
You stop, drag hanging from your lips, unlit
'I don't know. Lick it.'
and I that's just what I do, smoke curls
around my ears but all I can smell is you
I press my tongue against the small bud
feeling the smallest shiver
brush against my wet breath
which hangs heavier
then this delicate heat

Your rough fingers tangle in my hair
sliding grease through the strands
and your lazy 'yeah' disgusts me
through and through
but I think if I was a lesbian
that'd be okay
because I hate you
but damn.

I left you a message
you know, down there.
in sharpie, I hope it doesn't wash off
with semen because you're such a whore

Do those other men fuck you like its the end
like there's a gun to his head
Do they fuck you
and tell you he's going to fucking die
'cause you're so fucking tight

which is a lie, in case you were wondering.
Nothing about you is tight cause you're such a whore
but I saw you kiss one of them on the subway
You used to say 'I'm too terrible to kiss'
and then you'd slide your teeth across
the vein of my cock and I learned to stop asking for things

Will he wear your clothes
when you're not home even if he doesn't want to
even if he doesn't really like it
just to put them away just a bit too hastily
so you can pretend you know a secret

Does he know what I had to do for love?

Would...he like to know?

This is just a misunderstanding!
You see, I was thinking about you and your big, wet pussy
and how all your exs say your perfectly
manicured fingers felt amazing on their cocks
And how they say you're the only one in 12th grade
who will take if from behind on the fourth date
and I was stroking myself all nice and slow
jerking a little at base like I think you would
when, uh, your dog showed up
he's a cute one, huh? Not that I really like dogs or anything!
but yeah and then your dog showed up
and I was, uh, trying to get him to leave, yeah?
So I happened to have this peanut butter in my pocket
how convenient, right? And I was going put some outside your door
but a glob happened to plop on my hand
and my hand happened to be around my cock
And then you walked in.

So, you see, this really isn't what it looks like.

You've been asking for weeks
You say things like "in a rut"
and "its just fantasy"
and you buy everything
collars, whips, gags

but when you pull out those handcuffs
I snap, grabbing the lamp
and beating your face into a bloody pulp.

I paused, breathless and wild
before hitting you some more.

I am sorry I got blood on the carpet
but do you have any idea
how hard I came after that?

My doctor won't look me in the eye
I just wanted to know
if butter could be used for lube
But I can tell he's angry
that I kiss my boyfriend
where his wife wouldn't dream
all the time

Humm. Been awhile.

Well, I started posting mini-pornographic....poems? I suppose you could call them that. And it's actually kinda a nice excercise. So, I'm sure a few will end up here. We'll see how far this goes before I get bored.


Our love was doomed
From the start! His cock: too big,
my ear: so very small


ALMOST a haiku. But I failed. Solution? Free-form from now on!

Sunlight for two more months
flows through the classroom
dodges around table legs
and a lone pair with high-top shoes
halos across the exposed porcelain shoulder
melting into the flesh like butter
soft boughs of golden wheat
tumble against marble cheeks
across the room the teacher breathes
heavy, teeth, tongue and all
he looks back down at his on desk
which had never before seemed so gray

Eight reasons why the war was not a good idea

1. Because he was a prophet. A god or even a demon wouldn't have died just because of two bullets and a fake ambulance call.

2. Because we realized that if we've gotten angry every time somebody pushed back, we've been angry for a long time

3. Because in a tragedy when everyone dies the curtains falls and that's the end. Their not supposed to have their sons and wives and cousins waiting on the sideline for the next act.

4. Because sometimes we wake up and try to choke our lovers and sometimes we don't stop.

5. Because we can't eat our village's fruit. All the oranges have been poisoned as a warning.

6. Because we can't remember how far the stalk can grow before its too ripe to eat. No one will remind us.

7. Because we can no longer call the bird to our arm or the dog to our feet. Our hands have become scythes. Our legs have become treads.

8 Because we are the only ones left.