what thoughts i have of you tonight,
allen ginsberg,
how much like yourself,
i enjoy taking a man between soft wet lips
a voice growing in his chest that dies
as his diaphragm contracts,
he says, "ahh.."
or pushes air through his nose
but he'll never say my name.
he'll never press his tongue
to his front teeth to form the "T"
no I, no f-f-fa,
he stutters--
peers from under canvas brim,
lips apart,
deaf mute son of a bitch,
so full of fucking sighs,
he's always sighing,
anaconda arresting my limbs,
he chokes the life from me,
but i seek out the warmth.
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