Come on, love
Now it is yours to own
Grope it in adoration
It’s better than the statues lighted with scented candles in San Pedro
Stop kneeling on them as they don’t kneel back

This one pushes down even sick white-robed souls to genuflect
To abuse unfortunate lesser creations

This one is alive.
In real flesh.
Blood running through its veins.

The liquid must be sweet now
Hope it is not acrid

Swallow if you want
Or you can spit
But even if you choose to spit
It will linger, love

Hear me out now
Please don’t waste
Make it yours.
Well, it’s yours.

It’s borne out of hardness
And motions deep and constant
Of moans seeping through the cracks on the walls
Of passionate thrusts
Of jaws almost locked
And skillful tongue gone tired
And throat hurt
But tickled

Taste.
Drink of its intoxicating sweat.

Come on, love before it goes limp
In sad frustrating surrender