Lean forward
And **** the stain
From my shirt.
Use your tongue
To lap up my error
And my father’s error
And my ancestor’s error, too.

Pull my hair back
Like a Pez dispenser;
I’ll let you promenade
Down my jugular
In return, let this cube
From my rouge pint
Feel you, see you
Three-hundred and sixty
Degrees around
Peaks of flavor.

If my loving you
Is sinful, then let
These sultry demons
Pick at my *****;
Scorching its pinions
Asunder.

Let my soul
Plunge south
So I can rest
My dreary head
Under your shades
And your grass-patches

Let my hands
Reach north
To the sky;
Holding your ever
Radiant sun
So that I may love you
All morning and
All night long.