I suck
on a fruit cigarette.
It tastes like you,
all bitter and sweet.
It wraps around and
enlarges in my throat; I
crave your asphyxiation.

I suckled on
the buckeye of
your chest. It leaks
sweet-and-sour soy sauce.

Do you like it when I
flash the perky roundness
of my pale ass? I got a little
girl's skirt on. I shaved off
all my pubic hair. I pretend
you are my father, loving me like
every girl wishes their father did.

I'll play dress-down,
in my little sister's clothes.
Two succulent apples
are painted on the material
of where my breasts
will one day form.
The skirt ripples up
around the juncture
of my slender woman thighs.
I pretend I am your model
ready to be molested
the way they all fear.

I suck
on the loneliness
of your index finger.
It tastes like cauliflower.
It tastes like
my mother's ghost.

Mommy died of overdose
of all the men loving her.
Two and three
(or more)
in a single night.
Laying her down to prove
of what she was worth.

that crackhead,
only fed me ramen
and peanuts from
the garbage.
Never would he share
his delectable ice.

I suck
on the azure pure
of his dry eyeball.
I gotta keep it spit-shined
or it will get stuck
looking at other girls.

On scholarship
for being smart ((at least
that's what they tell me,
I dress up in a blue
and beige girls uniform.
He compliments me
on my stockings that
outline my fragile ankles.
I'll pretend I love him
just to get the 'A'
((and I've always wanted
to come
on somebody else's grade))

I suck
on his lips to forbid him say
those three tragic words
that could ruin it all.
Then I can't pretend
that I don't feel the same.

He suckles
on the swell of my abs,
begging that I'll lay him down,
but he's not so fantastical;
there is no mystery or fear.
Just a normal boy. With a heart.
And morals that are weaved
by strands of my guardian
angel's silky hair.

He sucks
on my eyelids that
shield me from my decay.
He wants to
lo – ((oh god no,
I won't dare admit it))
he wants to fuck me,
but differently than
all the others.

"I have a secret," I say,
all wrapped up
in my cellophane nurses outfit.

"Do you trust me?"
((my heart shatters
like porcelain that
never even mattered))
is your retort.

"Do you think
I'm sick?"

"Tell me you're secret.
That you keep to your heart
like it's the last flower on earth."

"I'm a virgin."