suck my dick, and tell me how it tastes.
because love that lives between your lips,
is love that doesn’t have to exist between mine.

i recite the alphabet to myself under my breath
when you go down on me, to see how many time
i can read the end, and if i can keep my cool
well enough to recite it backwards.

i still fall asleep with my cock in my hand,
because it’s the little things in life i hold onto so dearly.

surround me with scrambled pornography
and i’ll get off to the static, because what
i can’t see my mind creates more vividly.

like pins and needles that carpet the floor
and stick in my feet, love is about
hurting yourself and allowing someone else to heal you.

to peel your skin off it’s muscles and leave
keepsakes beneath it. to patch the pieces back
together with a needle between her teeth, it’s
trusting that the lips that kiss your scars
won’t rip out the stitches.

my hands are scissors, and i’ll cut you
starting between your thighs and not stop
until i’m between your eyes, so you can see me
when i slip inside of you and wear your skin
like it’s my skin…

because you’ve always been my favorite place to hide in.

i want a girl who masturbates with barbed wire,
because the real prison exists inside of you.
i want to drink the wine that spills
like your tears when they cry from you.

love is walking barefoot on the glass
that shatters when she collides with you.

love is the poetry i write across your chest sweating onto me –
a blurred mirror image like water color cartography.