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Call it a quirk. To be hog-tied, unfit
to wait; for rope, for passion, for a throb

between your legs. Scorn the horny half-wit,
far too awkward for a kiss or blowjob,

whose needs go unmet. There are fuck buddies
in this world. There are those who have neither.

Cleaver of Asses. Baalim of Quim. Sleaze
comes in threes; three little deaths, three stranger

acts, three reasons why I’ll wreck you in bed.
Once for our lost time, once for knowing more

about grief than bliss, once to teach you how
to cum like chaos. Feel this sublime dread

that you’re raw meat and I’m pure carnivore
greedy for treats. Right here, lover. Right now.