- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Swapped Positions
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It was hard being fucked near campfire
in front of him. All I could think is this
looks like lunacy. The one behind me
grunting his way to ejaculate and the
other carefully placed where I could
not see. I tried to imagine his expression.
Disdain was all I could guess. Had they
just swapped positions fair, this may not
even be a poem and I might have another
full warrior child. Some afternoons during
naps now, I wake up quick and in sweats,
(no more screams!) seeing them, sometimes
just the watcher, in my bed drunk when I woke,
and wonder where all the fucking cruel came from.
Opportunists, maybe. More than anything,
I'd like to see the original plan.
Just to know who I was then beneath the stars
on a lake aptly named.
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