;QUESTION OF ORGASM JUST FLOATING OUT

Editor’s note: This poem contains descriptions of violence.

 

 

This hoarder documentary or the guy who leans over the balcony

to watch me fuck my girlfriend in the ass snap the nape

of her neck into a fingered vice some bones

strongarm the formica table into wood: even the

time when I met K and jerked off for weeks with fire tapping

the voyeur tapes out of my laptop camera.

against the supermarket frozen food coffin

hello ma’am soon the summer like sharp

glue-like shards even her best friend is not off-limits

her shtick is up/the sunshine acid she lets dust sift

sat with corona slick on her thighs.or a sick kind of zoom

tongues the lens. do I need to come

to be happy? what I learned is how to slide duck’s beak digits

slowly to sidestep rectal prolapse or fissure but maybe

this isn’t how you like to think of fucking, the bore-

dom of an afternoon checking out slings

I dream to be in it: swarms of pinpoint fetish

the very precise price of taking a fist to the face I’m in favor

of proper things and breakfast bruschetta cue wifi distortion

when I want to receive and view the file

.Beyond random arrangements a masochist knows

where to look for maximum impact does the trick

kind of affected over the smarminess of leather don’t expect

me to know how to describe

certain orgasms that I’ve had even in good company

let’s make a conscious effort not to imagine or remember

a bank of love wounds inflicted by nonlovers

the essence of skin kinship cracks beneath a gaze like us

nonwomen now other users:

my arm sticking out of your asshole’s puckered rosace

a thin flesh tunnel

 

Author: Mat Sergent

Image: K H Niehaus


Mat Sergent is a French queer writer who has been published in Ambit, the Belleville Park Pages and Notes.

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