Jack Honey nights.
I do not have to meet you anywhere,
but in my mind
where the roads are in construction,
the gravel dangerously bumpy,
ditches in surprises,
Montreal potholes in abundance.
Those bloody detours, confusing,
misplaced and I am letting you in.
You enter graciously, carefully,
confidently. You have no difficulties, no fears, you actually like it, you want it. Of course, I think you saw way too much. So I crumble,
move my lips to no music.
Stay a while.
You ease into my answers.
You like my hard nipples,
smoking, drinking ways
you enjoy watching me read, crossing my legs and concentrating on every word, comma, period. You buy me the booze, the drinks, the smokes and then you hold my hair back as I purge all. And still,
you kiss my neck,
and erase all my memories.
I call you my Vampire,
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