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I fucked you in all the various positions
our lame physic and wild imagination
allowed. Your fingers of a musician -
skilled and broken out of frustration
were bleeding that night I finally took you.
You awkwardly tried to flirt with me
in the bar, saying that lovers, even a few
won't be left alive. I didn't have a key
about what you were talking.
But I loved your bristle and broken nails.
You were gawking.
You looked as if you've never been with males
before, when I touched your crotch.
There were bedbugs in the room upstairs,
you were stiff as if you came just to watch,
you gave me condoms as if the sacred shares -
it was then when I understood that you were
naïve and foolish.
You said that you want it rough, to be sore
and ache and be ghoulish.
I guessed you hate when boys try to mother
you. I guessed you were the one who is pleading
but could easily make an attempt to smother
a partner. I guess you are never the one who is leading.
I remember violating you
in white clothes of a plumber
so clean and trendy and new
all night. I was never a hummer.
Your saliva drooling on a pillow,
your rib cage tense and quivering.
I violated you in front of a mirror.
You were ashamed. You were shivering.
You were in your thirties, but no one
has ever gone down on you the way I did.
You lost a lot, lad. You'd better jumped a gun.
But I guess you've always been a timid kid.
After I brushed our semen from the sheets
You chuckled and immediately threw up
in the toilet. You wanted to flee to the streets,
but I brought you a tissue and held up
your chin, while you were struggling
not to suffocate with the vomit.
I cringed, as I am young and into smuggling.
Sometimes you are as fast as a comet
when you either on stage or coming
into my palm. Well, you are an old, pathetic,
sad fuck, but you had it coming.
I am rough and working-class and never poetic,
but I find it ridiculously romantic
that after us collapsing together to the floor -
a tangle of blood and sweat and aching flesh,
after you begging under me and whimpering “more”,
after me giving you a gum for your throat to refresh
when you covered the bath with a retching cloud,
even now you are still too shy to sing for me out loud.