I Am Not An Easy Fuck

Your idea of me is fiction

My Photo

If you think I’m an easy fuck,

that’s your fault

I wear my scars on the outside

chucks of me missing

there are walls

impenetrable designs

steel, brick and mortar

obsidian leached

in my closed veins

there’s fucked up

and then there’s me

the other side of sanity

the crazy you’ve always described

but never quite have found

I make the head pound

with my quintessential queer

if I’m insane then the sex

must be magnificent

something out of books

a walking, real life literature

ink and words turned into

flesh and blood, unending curves

you know I must have that look

not quite exotic, but certainly erotic

an hourglass design you want to

turn over again and again