Your chest was made of marijuana- sugar.
Like tinkling little balls of flavor.
And it fell on me like a warm blanket with two marble nipples. One throbbing heartbeat and an oaring hand that swept across streets. Through all the muck. To just reach me.
You told me, you were not like other men and you will not hurt me. Because you came equipped with Vaseline and sturdy fingers. Raunchy boiled tongue, reeking of nicotine and a temporary love, I am very fond of when you slip yourself between and forget where you are. Your eyes closed. And an open mouth.
Like Krishna did when Yashoda asked him…
And he showed the entire world swirling in his mouth.
But you craned your mouth down to pick up globules of sweat and trailing it around my waist. Dropped more Vaseline and a dizzying thrust.
That spirals up to pain and then eyes, (a tear) and
Hands, lifelessly haunting the creases of your shirt.