Vlad Among the Rent Boys

Meaning only a kiss, I let my tongue explore
an inch of your carotid. Its heat--your own banked fire,  began to bloom behind my eyes.

In that moment, I was a boy again and innocent
more than you are innocent, dirty in an alleyway
but free, and found that night by another

as this night, I found you. I could be kissed for a penny.
You bargained for a twenty, and I gave it.
You stood a moment, fiercely careless,

waiting for the quick embrace, some grinding at the groin,
a kiss before you would be gone. But with my lips
against your lower lip, just so, you melted.

So many melt. The dead machines inside my cells
began to turn and I began my helpless exploration
of your pulse, began to feel my answering erection

pry my jaw into a kind of yawn. Entranced,
you felt my spike slide in, felt your own
invincible lassitude consume your waking self.

Look at you, limp in the moonlight, skin pale
as violet veined Carrara. It could be my own,
and it will be my own when you wake cold
and need to learn the way to warm your hands.

  — Scott Murphy