CRAIG DAVID LONG

queer • environmentalist • writer~ish*

Untitled

I want your shoulder falling off,

like mine.


I’ll be right over.

You say,

“It’s about time.”


When you hold me,

bite me.


And if you tease me,

breathe me.


Wrap your legs around me.


I’ll hold your flesh with my

finger pressed against

your hole.


I’ll cum with your dick in my mouth.


You’ll cum with my hand

wrapped around your throat.


I leave a puddle of drool on

your chest,

my head curled into

your shoulder.


And when I wake,

the flowers will be wet.

A shrub of roses reflecting street

light off the dew …


Scented

with pavement.


Slowly, the edge eases off —

a pain I’ve been avoiding.


I want to be the one

to break the cycle.


I’m coughing up blood

in the bathroom sink

and trying not to think it’s consequential.


And spit again tomorrow, more

blood: my heart pooling

into my chest.

Older →
© CRAIG DAVID LONG