“Venus is kindled by anything, but her greatest heat comes from sodomy, as anyone who has tried it knows” ~ 12^th century Italian graffiti.

For a sec those whispers were back, “make it

hurt.” The scars of your anus an old friend

as I sank inside. Back when lust and spit

were the only lube we needed. To rend,

to tear, to walk with a limp. For a sec;

a twitch; concrete grit should’ve been enough;

skewered dog-drip meat; at each sick thrust, “wreck

me.” Back when self-loathing was the thick stuff

that drove my verse; rise and turn bathroom ghouls

sublime. Odd. Without meth Yacht rock remains

vapid. Without booze Venus’ heat cools

and so do I … like sex without blood stains.

For a sec, slick with dawn’s light, ire and cum,

the gods were whispering one last poem.