blow job, erotic poetry, more than spilled ink, poem, razzels, razzmatazz, shocking love is shocking, sonnet, spit-speckled grin
A small smudged death around the lips. A smear;
a vile small smear. Meanwhile, the rest of us
have more haunting tasks. Mascara-like fear
flaking around your eyes. Rise. A painless
love is no love at all. Wise know these scars
never heal. What are scars but our bodies
keeping the dazzling in? All that mars
beauty is beauty itself. Ties what frees
us frees us. Others cry, “why hurt us?” You
sigh, “why not?” It’s not your spit-speckled grin
that I stare at as you gag down my cock,
it’s your eyes. Here lies what matters. Here, too,
lies what the false fear when they call love sin.
Their love dries to a smear, ours razzles, shocks.