BAREBACK MOUNTAIN

You are too good for me.

Deformed is my surname.

Rays of light can't reach me.

You're way out of my league.

Shame is my first name,

hanging me with its noose,

unfurling its tight knots,

our Soul enters a new

incarnation, planet.

Love appears, mushroom cloud

of glans, head, tip, foreskin,

veins, pre-ejaculate.

Martyrs and monsters can't

assume total control

of our lives unless we

zonk out and give up our

entire consciousness.

Dead inside, we pursue

our somnambulist path,

natural to ourselves:

grand personalities.

Jerking off with you was

orgasm without cum,

sex without distraction.

Empty meaningless sex --

perhaps that's all it was.

Next time we'll do better.

Sitting on your phallus

took me to your palace --

a temple where idols

live happier lives than

individuals who

never question their lot.

A shameless middle-class

dick penetrates sometimes.

Our pleasure and pain mix

like water and red wine

fueling our lust and rage.

Hey, I love you, what's your

instinct for sex attuned

to -- life sex or death sex?

Love or hate, friendship or

enmity, Eros or

rotten hot Thanatos?

Civilizations wane.

Hookups look like true love.

Endings don't really end.

Grapes of Dionysus,

under green vines I saw

erotic love light up

violently across

a bridge spanning from your

ribs to your cock and butt --

a virile pleasure house.

Yes was my reply to

every request you made.

Scared I wouldn't make you

happy with my body

until you came inside

and gave me a true taste.

Cum like a god inside

holes of lost souls in need.

Release your sperm inside --

it tastes so good to me.

Suck me off first, you said,

Then sit on my thick dick.

Jails are real places

until we forget them.

So we live our dull lives

terrified of our fate

if we fly too close to

nebulae and blind stars

tragedies may unleash

rhymes of sad history

upon our pretty world

dying from pollution.

Emptiness abounds in

a society left

under the sun too long.

Doves of false hope descend

onto my balcony.

Never have I tasted

a sin I can't enjoy

like wrestling while making

delicious love with you.

The truth is I can't tell

real true love from hookups

until I find the one.

Maybe he will love me --

perfect fit between us.

Jobs are a lot like that --

of course you need money,

but you do not need love.

I don't care anymore --

Dates are nonexistent.

Everyone is happy

now that we don't speak Truth.

Babe, nothing's wrong with me.

Endless dicks on Grindr;

nothing really matters.

Interrupted romance??

The love that never was

or did I fuck it up?

Maybe I don't love you.

Ulterior motives

sanitize our romance;

surrender the magic

often felt at the start

like a Disney movie

in our dystopia.

Now you're fucking me; then

I forgot what you said.

God is your middle name.

Rock stars can’t match your fame.

Indian men are hot.

No one equals your looks,

dick, soul, charm, smarts, sex, hair.

Rare, precious, you thrust bare.

Fucking my ass bareback.

I forgot what I said

during that hyperreal

experience that felt

like pressure and pleasure

came over my torso:

a wave of oblivion

sent me to a new world.

Tamed lions and wolves still

radiate passionate

obstinate drives beneath.

Perfect evening that we spent together.

Rainy days, but that was not one of them.

Are you the one who turns grey into gold?

Neither strife nor sickness can stop our Love.

Anal sex is not crude-lewd when we do it.

Virtue is part of our foreplay: cock-to-cock.

Ancients knew how to rub

underneath your lover's

genitals, hearts beating

until my ecstasy

surges in my phallus

touching your erection,

our souls and hearts are there.

Prisons, social constructs,

interrogations, sex

nights even in jail

our bodies still feel good

'cause not even the State

has the power to stop

everything that exists

tenderly between us.