Blonde Waylon.

messy boy;
here between his straw legs, weaving him
about my wrist, dragging him across the floor, knotting him to post, whipping
good boy given freedom taken brutal
he moves his fingers about my lips
“tell me about this scar?”
texture kiss
kiss his knuckles
reluctant to remove the gleam of gold
he pulls at the tails of my coat
like I can’t wrap my words
in the dyed edges
of a gentleman
shed body cells colored into mine
lapping fingertips
he calls me his father
we introduce god to his new home
jaundice up his arm, I let my grip loosen
blood spurts back to him
touch my hair
good boy,
tell me something
need -
don’t beg
just tell me
I show him where his legs are softest
scar rough on his skin
lips parted don’t pull my hair
coat off
he hurts me +++ he reminds me +++ I want it