Drenched in your sweat, sticky from sticky acts,
I run my palm down your back, rub cum-funk

across your face. Anything that distracts
you from your pain is a blessing. Our drunk

spine-twist, two-fist afternoon trysts always
distract. You taste like bong-water after

gagging on me. We lay back in a haze
that goes on for miles. You light another

dirty roach though you have to be at school
soon. You might make it … if the PCP

doesn’t kick in first. There is no shower
and the sink water is brown. You are ghoul

sick yet here we are. I stare at your knee
and it splits open up: all clit-flower.