by Bernard Dewley
...through three red moons.
The tides rising fast,
crashing higher on my hips.
Your fingers ever deeper in my mouth.
It's finally dawn,
and the color of sleep.
(Don't) make me beg. I will.
Pin back my arms hands knee me to the wall
push deeper into darkness- past the choking
where chests open into cages of light- shadows
flicker as you stand above me, hair mussed-
commanding. Always the good boy, I listen.