blowjob | memories of my ghost sista

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blowjob, burly green, erotic poetry, fellatio, Green Fuse, sonnet, thrimilce

In the Season of Slosh, dank and swampy,

in Thrimilce, the Month of Three Milkings,

when all that drips and rains and bleeds in me,

each spurt and geyser, will be offerings.

Nothing is as bewitching; a horned god

in the spring heat, long and lovely and lush.

Green heat: I want to impale you, ramrod

you in sacrifice to the forest. Gush,

as sap gushes, down your garlands. Cock-slap

your blithe face, stretching jaw, your bulging throat.

In juice is joy, they say. In cum wisdom.

Bless the sacred; be it spit, seed or sap.

Bless the damp earth. Bless lovers that devote

themselves daily to wisdom and to cum.

][][

Note: “Thrimilce,” is the Anglo-Saxon term for the month of May, when the animals of the earth are so fertile that the ewes can be milked three times a day.

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anonymous sex, blowjob, contralto, erotic rebel, fellatio, gloryhole, homophobia, it is complex, orgasm, poem, Poetry, shiv, sonnet, sucka mc

Strange. There’s a small army of us who give
blowjobs to strangers. Like Sucka MCs

or a ten year old with a homemade shiv,
you can’t tell just by looking as we breeze

by you on the street, in your office, out
on the playground. All our worlds are complex,

and so are we. Maybe on a stakeout
at a gloryhole, bathrooms and blind sex,

then you’ll tell—-when you hit a contralto,
like in movies—-each time you orgasm.

A tad crude, but to the point. Then you’ll tell
who is who. All us boys and girls who know

your taste and laugh at you because you cum
and call yourself an erotic rebel.

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

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