Aphrodisia through the nose

I am a boy, the boy is bait.
Violent pinball of orgasm circulates
in nerves that do not translate.
Your thrust your screw is only you.
I speak Paris, you speak Timbuktu.
The turtle is hard too but my eyes
don’t quite see glee in that.
Yours is the din while mine is the mewl.
A reptile has no crooked fat
I can push into—so why
stare like walls at walls as I
act like a diabetic in exercise?
Much sugar. The river of trash
floats tumbling by, Mexico burns
fast as every Swiss face upturned—
they make a certain red snow angel—
do you as I inflame like phosphorous?
No. Though no. Oh no. Huff and blow no.
I curate juices of your fruit that I
call sallow, call thin, call interminably old.
The why then—the why now—
streets blocks cities families friends withhold
in the fable Snow White told—
sleeping that long ends in rape seven times—
and the prince is covetous of height—
sleep tight that we’ve finished off
our muscles our senses our folds—
only the crawling beetle can tug my smile
asleep in a living mold—underground—
where you probably found me—

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~ by Jeremy on May 17, 2011.

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