Hymn to the particular loneliness
of being . Don’t say a little tongue kiss is too much for you while your come is still dripping out of me. True, I wear my hunger on my belly and I have worked long days in little jeans dirtying me with something other than shame. Come on, you knew this about me. I want to orbital-force play, rambunctious rowdy rollick. Ramble on. Full stop feel. See these finger suckers and nose tip probe? And yes, good God, I love pressing my lips to everything. The softest skin of my Frisco thrums where wrist nips forearm. But sweetly. Turn out the electric lamp and let the light in. Please, let the butter sun set lolly, lap up all the “oh” of you in this terminal after noon. I am not my father; I will not doze into death. Cut to a quick Houdini act, skipping all the way across the country, following dust ski...