Tangled in the backseat, parked near the bridge,
I am in awe with the curve of your ass.
Under your jeans your telltale scar-tissue,
mortar-shell fragments, your brawny muscles
and the curved stump ending above the knee.
I’m a drunken beast on hands and elbows.
You’re all splorpy-wet from savage foreplay.
“Prends-moi par derrière. Jouis dans mon cul.”
Pressing your forehead against the window’s
glass you shudder at the depravity
of gore, being gored, once more light mangles
itself behind our lids — I would tell you
that I love you as our breath fogs the glass
but I don’t know those words in your language.
In French, “Prends-moi par derrière. Jouis dans mon cul,” roughly translates as, “Take me from behind. Cum in my ass.”