I wrote this poem with “Dirty Talk” and “Poetry” refrigerator magnets. It was published in my Bram Stoker Award-nominated collection, At Louche Ends: Poetry for the Decadent, the Damned, and the Absinthe-minded.

Sticky Winter Lips

Release me
Steamy spirit
Like moist
Breath
From hot whispers
And see my soul,
Lovelier than leather
And your god’s 
Blue love.
For I crave
Sublime black passion
Above poetry.
So
Swallow sweet  
Thigh fire and  
Desire dynamite, 
Boy, as you
Grind oral sex
Through whispering panties
With thy mouth and
Position your prick
To prance
In pentameter.
Until the  
Deep falling, let
Obsessed thought
Melt reason; for
Your rhythm
Rhymes with romance.
Look —
Lose her hairy hole.
Crave me,
Knight,
And leave loyalty to the
Bourgeoisie! For
Art alone cannot gratify
Flesh. Or heart.
You then kissed
This bottoming beauty
And said
Time won’t make
Forever bend.
So cry adieu to
Heart’s appetite.
Nothing more
Will heaven do.
But please,
I replied,
Please don’t leave.
And please don’t take
my moon skin…

Enough Sun.
I never want Summer
Or need Spring; 
Only your
Sticky Winter lips
And night rain.