When I think back to him
I realize that he was my favorite ****.

The way he wreathed under my touch in absolute agony,
the way his eyes would roll
until the strained veins would burst
so that he was crying
watery blood replays within my mind
when I have no **** to gratify my lust.

What I savored most
was the white flecks of condensed spittle
that formed and frothed in the corners of his mouth.