Video Whore
Memories
unwanted images of him screwing me
my raised legs spread wide
from Chicago to the River Nile
played like some sordid stereoscopic skin flick
in my mind
while I was meditating last night
which I do ritually these days
as an end to masturbation;
a prelude to sleep.
The wreckage from the Fuck
was everywhere:
busted lamps
torn sheets
empty vodka shots
an unopened box of rubbers
the soft beige carpeting
soaking up a mixture
of blood, shit and cum
all the while
the two stars of this bareback fantasy art picture
oblivious to the heavy smell of death
lie naked on the floor
taking drags off a single cigarette.
Bareback
Another scarred faggot
sixteen with jutted hips
flirts and winks his way through groping hands,
his tight jeans slink past hairy chests and
wedding bands.
The murky room is heavy with hard currency-
cocktails for tips, and
his mouth that ain’t cheap.
Sinking in drink
he pimps himself to hair burners and accountants-
sullen and pale.
Candy man offers money for photos
cash up front—
just lick your lips
and smile pretty. Candy man is a liar.
In a red light room on the other side of town
five dirty queers
take their time taking turns
and he takes it like a man.
Another scared faggot
far from home
sweat beads his gaunt back
working his knees to the bareback bone.
Breed Me
this wintered heart tethered to the past:
mama went crazy that summer I turned fourteen—
she started setting house fires when daddy was asleep,
those hot rebel days I was posing in the back seat
of shadow parked cars, hand lips zippers all open for the
taking—
keeping nothing for myself.
I need your firm hand swift against me
gently guiding pushing me—
your bare knuckle love correction cracking through memories
I'm bound to stubborn and defiant.
pull me tighter—your short leashed boy
keep me bridled bound to you—
submitting giving needing you for food warm arms
and sheltered from myself.
Breed me daddy, I'll be good—
take kiss love me sir, keep me as your son.
© 2006 Bernard Dewley - Contributor's
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