Half-hard with my serpentine curve halfway
down your throat you just smirked as if to hint,

“focus, boy,” and, “wouldn’t death by foreplay
be a damn shame? Now, make me gag.” The glint

of your lamprey teeth; the circular saw
of your jaw stretched wide as your maw unhinged,

sucking me in. “No blow jobs for bourgeois
bros,” you’d said of all the men who had cringed

each time you spread your lips. Remember this:
love, we’re not fated to be loved. We just

remind lovers why they’re blessed. I can feel
your teeth pricking my flesh; a painful kiss

turning me thick. Thick and fated for lust:
I’ll stand and convulse, you’ll gag as you kneel.