Tags
cum unto me, demotic, dusk, erotic poetry, milky spurt, past tense squander, poem, Poetry, sonnet, worship all
& I yanked your hair until you whimpered
& moaned. I call this, too, a sacred act.
This queer cheer. Odd? Odd that the only pact
between us was no pact at all. Squandered
without ache, spurt or need. Without my root
in your root cellar; stretch marks, scabs, stubborn
scars. Proof that the euphoric brute in Brute
Love is still love. Worship all that return
to yearn for a blinding flash. Milky spurts.
Spasms. Second comings. “Cum unto me.”
I did. Past tense squander. I am a thing
of dusk; a thing that divides & perverts
both day & night. Even murk is holy.
All this demotic. All this queer hexing.
