Expose its flesh, eyes closed and
have at it, whole-mouthed.
Eagerly, without abandon,
I **** down to the pit of life.
Juices run down from chin to neck
in perfect rhythmic queues.
A sign, I think, that I’m doing it right.
When it’s all over, and
I’m breathless and sticky sweet,
I tongue at the strings between my teeth.
With nothing left to taste,
I finger this leftover seed
and lay it to dream
in a black bed of rich possibility.