loving a virtuoso

it is a fact
i know
more than i do.
feel more than
i know.
tripping over souls
on dead-end roads.
darkness is simple
to the beholder
of beauty.
everything i touch
is my desire.
our lips caressed,
our tongues twisted.
leather roses
is his art.
i look for him there.
to swallow the magic
of shallow words.
the fine strokes
of this artist.
his hands wrapped
around my balls.
grateful to be noticed
for my pain.
i am made holy
by his smile.
tears of salt
from misery
and delight.
we are runaways
ravished and used.
our cocks convey
this love affair.
every hour
i meet him again.
we sleep and
dream together.
struggle with
what we know.
the taste of me.
his next painting.

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