la mariquita

Had to wash, eventually, reluctantly
in the shower, quietly rinsing her smell
from my beard. Her taste from my ‘tash
gargled at the back of my throat, swallowing
so as to return the compliment, incompetent
now, a mute bard, with a hint of a hard-on
gently squeezing his balls, vainly replicating
her strokes, imagining her lips, her teeth
her tongue raising me up to be a man.

Dry myself, mourning her departure
eying the islands we mapped on the bed
sheets. One more night lying in a state
of grace on these stale contours: our relief
then, to be fucked into the machine. Set
to three on the dial. Temp. 90 Celsius
1200 rpm for the spin. spin spin
spin spin spin spin.







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