erotic poetry, fuckathon, heal thyself, Love shall make us a threesome, sonnet, your pretty face is going to hell
“Look how hairy she is.” With more laughing
and more vodka, with more snogging you dragged
your best friend’s skirt up, her dark pubes framing
the wet spot in her panties. You have gagged
on me often enough, pressed me deeper
until my balls tickled your chin and you
grinned, throat full. Which gods does a worshiper
turn to if she desires a three-split screw?
We don’t know. We’re damaged. We try to heal
in our own way. Others use prayer. For us
it’s cum in the pubes of your friend, motel
bed sheets and frenzy. It’s kissing with zeal
with the radio on, pure fuckathon, plus
our pretty faces are going to hell.