the boy in me

is it my good fortune,

to be friends of plato?

 

how can i be impotent

in dark allies of sodom.

the situation beckons,

to pick the wallflower.

 

when i feel the muscle,

the flavor of my dessert.

 

i will be the influence,

on bookish young men.

the path to my utopia,

i consume their thighs.

 

is it eloquent semen,

or the nobility of flesh?

 

i flourish on the antics,

them leaping from cliffs.

in light of their manhood,

swinging free, to and fro.

 

the unity of single form,

an intercourse of bliss.

 

they’re watered in grace,

a religion of the blessed.

i apologize for the hair,

on a tempered, trojan horse.

 

creating the adam by god,

on knees in naked prayer.

 

i feed at ten cent nipples,

a masterpiece of fine art.

should this be my museum,

that i shall never leave?

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