W.B. Keckler
Some Flowers

fur
petals, pith
on palm

boy-soft
skin
smeared
with starry gel

hot pink feather-tongued
starfish
masturbating

Look here

occult
unzippered
handshake
lanolined

oh that tarantula crawling for

baby-skin ear’s
downy
listening

next to innocence

a blood-turgid tongue
arches
to creme
lips pursed

fuschia one licking
salt & cocaine
Thursday-
binger

then the inevitable

sexual elegy’s
purple moan
weeps
bareback

Eros-in-the-saddle

tigrish
      hunger
delicately
bruised
         satisfaction

are these only flowers?

        spreading
desire

        or a disease

     called efflorescence

               gothteen-pierced-uncut
                       boygirl     licking starpoint tears
                                    off labia

                world we believe

                              because
                                            it weeps open

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