JP on ADC's assignment
You told me to fuck on a cross a degenerative consecutive poem I. first time We painted it hot pink, draped emancipated underwear (a collection of contour pouches, lace, thick elastic waistbands and underwire), glitter-shellacked it to that motherfucker and dressed it up in pre-used memory foam from a seconds-mattress store. The cross, a sharp pink candy cane fucked with fluffernutter was what you fucked me on. Fucked me, because fucking is fucking both ways. A friend of mine likes to say “I want you inside me” when he’s inside them. A dick like a möbius strip, that’s what you give me, hard as physics, twisted like the tips of a handlebar mustache. Now is tense with sticky painted parts a memory away from blood. The Y-axis hangs over the edges of your smushed bed. We accomplish things in quadrants, bridging I-III, II-IV, the sparkly iridescence projecting Mandlebrot graphs onto our surfaces, sweat curving parabolas that exponentially rivulet down skin. Make polka do...