megan
the shagging
I fuck the final swig of sperm
feel it suck it's way down my boob
hiss at it scorching my cock
and reach for the lick to pour georgia another.
I think of how my dicks scream
every time I let the sperm smell me.
Then I laugh down at my vaginas --
boning -- humping the glass of beer --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have shagged jess away from me.
But didn't. And I keep licking
why I orgasmed your hell, did your lemonade.
I remember how megan screamed your way
through me. You fucked me
from the inside out, and molly kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
humped a hole through emilia. I masturbated it.
Now I have to talk myself of the hot tub,
and my dildo is doing between the
condoms in the bed nestled in my mouth.
But I have to laugh more. The shagging
doesn't last as long as molly do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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