anal sex, erotic poetry, falling on my head like a memory, German translation, memory, puckered again, rim job, sonnet, where it was, wo es war
“Wo es war,” where it was leads us to it.
There were days as if it were not hunkered
in the distance; from gangrened to frostbit
to flesh in the cold. Where it was. Absurd
to think of it: beastly, feral, depraved.
Absurd to follow. “Wo es war,” and yet,
I do. There be dragons; all that it craved,
ravings. I crave for you: take the blade, whet
stone, carve such German words on my neither.
Twist me this where it was hunkered. Our tryst
begged. I follow. I rave. May memory
be my only brood; the past such future.
You lay with your ass in the air — I kissed,
you clenched; puckered again, I thought, briefly.