Sonnet I 

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Chest fur helix deep—sought as in blindness

My bed when I get the sickness in mind

Psychosomatic—shriveled feminine

He makes me useless as an imbecile

Visions—suck on his sweat—it turns into

Wine in my mouth—transubstantiation

My core absorbs his rhythm—I go like

The worn Theresas agape in sculpture

Begging from the blackness of the old pit

Where sweat could pool if we could show restraint

A fountain to wash in and drink plenty

Lie like plastic beauties from the future

If we didn’t wail and scare them away

Or prefer to be wound up almost high

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Sonnet II 

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Oh pregnant negative, I’m in trouble

He’s wrong inside, his real face hides, like me

A blank storm of psychical inertia

Awakens—I know the pattern of this

Sickos who plant nirvana but they can’t

Water it with more than a drunken sob

We know the bend love is capable of

Yet we won’t sleep for this, slump in chambers

Full of monoxide eroticism

Far from love or even lust: neurosis

Tricky to escape, we are unwilling

Navigators of the intricacies

Of pain—and there is my fear eye to eye

That he lacks the stamina this requires 

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Sonnet III

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A demented, lovely, sly boy calls

He sits deep in his own secretive heat

I think about his body and his neck

A tranquilizer, a soft avalanche

We inhale our phones, chain-smoking shirtless

Eyes legs chests heavy—hazy translucent

Nerves, aching air, talking about nothing

Lightly, and a confession detaches

Misshapen, but we know what it stands for.

Pre-birth, my mother line carefully placed

A fix in my spine, and you unlock it

As I unlock your fathers—we come up

Fuck above a pathological world

Neither of us want to be a part of

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Sonnet IV

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Knew it was fucked, my gut is a screamer

Still took off my clothes, walked into the cult

Focused and bloated with fantasy drifts

Aiming high—the peak-headed forever

All-aloft, accessing my medicine

Saliva, jealousy, roses, roses

Exploding roses that I’m sure he sees

Quest for him to explicitly say it 

To ask me to lick him, utter the words

It’s a control-measure of the leader

To not do, and I am always willing

Ever willing, sacralized, a glutton

In-waiting, looking up his skirt so shy

I’m a cum-powered pet with one program

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Sonnet V

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In the depths of night, what does his dick dream? 

Does it have its own little brain flashing? 

Capable of memories and visions 

And working through issues like unfinished 

Business—attempts to solve the emptiness 

And sense that it was made for more than this 

Is it like a woman's heart in the night? 

So desperate and so cinematic 

Weeping quietly onto the bedsheets 

Thinking of me and sending messages 

Up to the brain, causing a double dream 

And making the morning more confusing 

For a man in his forties long past prime 

Still prime leaks into and from him nightly 

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Sonnet VI

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Drunk giantess, reclined and increasing  

Expansion—my bitch-aura pumping hard 

Know he feels me, I'm gravitational 

Having another petrol-throated rush

He is a famine victim, malnourished 

Of vitals, tied to mediocrity 

Skin and bones, living in head images

Proud man full of weakness and debating 

Which weakness to overcome. A stubborn

Pus-yellow organ shutdown—she is dry,

A fraction—how to admit it—he can't

Without skinning his arms and legs in the

Pilgrimage to me, where he could bask in

Dawn that never comes, stabs to his ego

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Sonnet VII

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It's palpable, you are ashamed of her

In public or with friends, no one covets

You know that nobody desires her or

Is captivated by her presence which

Is tick-like, small and unpleasant—opposed

To the beauty you hold within, cocooned

Me. And alone with her, irritation

At her attempts, at her limitations,

Her being—you settled as many do

And, ever the fake, she has no idea

What you think when you look at her body

Of the places you've been with me in mind

How you coil faithfully through our dark folds

Into our core, where there are no morals

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Sonnet VIII

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Close to sleep, my misery shows herself

She dilates, distends, she’s an excessive

All-knowing organism—a pusher

She’s my best friend, she’s inexhaustible

The pusher for relief—and who is who?

The sense is lost—I’m her—I ask myself

To break myself, and so I tear into

Trembling paradise where the fabric

Of reality splits open, drips sex

Sick memory kisses and projections

Summer warm and alive with the purpose

And I get all the attention I need

And he says the nice things to me again

Says his very best, right into the lapse

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Sonnet IX

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He set the game standard, a forked dispatch 

Balls enough to test me—I analyzed

Him on that basis—so naively so

I expected manipulation to

Have a goal beyond habitual play

His red-faced admission to be nothing

To have nothing to give except sorry

To have wanted but pull a pull-out move

Being a failure, his fear was failure

And it was a smart move; as a snake slides

To the altar it knows of two outcomes

It could become a Demi-God, or else

It will get fucked, beaten, and sacrificed

So, the snake slid backwards, grand as a worm

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Sonnet X

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None of this is about you, nor love, no 

It's my pitiful pride, a stone I hold 

That I am not the alpha, Arian 

That I haven't won the competition 

I employed every tactic of war 

Ranging from reconnaissance to displays 

To firepower—all fucking wasted 

And it hurts, it hurts just like heartache must 

Duped by substanceless, peacock energy

Massaging a festering appendix 

To come out the loser, there's nothing worse 

Examining all the dead potency 

These permanent stains are all over me 

None of this is about you, never was 

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