after hours of cock-sucking my
lips feel like glass
two shards of broken bottle
dangerous till tides
sand their jagged edges
I have Superman’s ears
I can hear weeds outside the window
swaying like legs in the air
brushing against cinderblock
instead of time I have
changes in the light on his skin
I slide from his thighs
crawl to the coffee table and scribble:
Monet is betrayed by the fickle
colors on Rouen Cathedral’s facade
I picture my next trick
navigating the chalk art maze in
the Mission parking lot
and passing into the sanctuary
the holy water’s so still the bowl
seems empty till he dips his finger in