I Have A Fetish For Escapism
Make me think that the world runs smoother
When all focus
Is on leather and sweat and stink.
Glorious odor that makes the mobius strip slow.
And Ouroborus is Self Fellatio.
My leading member drags me through pigeoned glory holed thoughts.
And I lose
The consideration of purpose
and other abstracts
such as longevity and sustainability in flesh and psychosis.
I focus on Sir. Daddy. Mister. Big Bro. Alpha.
He focuses on Little Bro. Son. Slave. Servant. Boy. Omega.
The gravity gets lighter,
Through the science of mass.
The raging reek of his masculinity
My balance of sexuality.
Hot Rubber fills my skull.
The final moment.
I lay back and I end up remembering that I have a poetry blog.
And that student loans are approaching.