I live in the negative places. The spaces that
exist in between, nothing. Perhaps that's why, you've never found me. Until I
left my number here.
Each night I beg: for an angel of mercy. Each night I find myself: sinning. The paper notes, the
metal coins, I place in the skeletal hands; the boatmen drive me through the river. Black. Winding. Under the
streetlamps of orange. They bring me to you. Your place. Your bed. My destination. My hell.
I am a male prostitute. Prostitute for love. Prostitute for redemption. And,
"Here I am, would you send me an angel?"
Finally you called. The most beautiful voice. With the most beautiful face.
Your eyes' a liquid blue... green... red... flaming opals that dazzle, and
dazzle, and I couldn't take my eyes off. Your lips so soft. So soft
around my snake. Sucking. Until I was all hard and ready to go. I could be
lost, forever in you. Just coming and cumming and coming.
And then you stopped. You took off your robes.
And revealed yourself. With no navel. No sex organ between your thighs. Nothing.
Blank. Sealed. Clean. So smooth. Yet, so natural.
What are you?
I cannot forget the flaming opals that blaze. And the silver
feathered wings. The gentle breeze that moved when you flew through the window. And the stars that cried when you plunged deep into
the sea. Yes, it looked like heaven. A reflection. But it's the only one we've got.
*
I have no wings. I can't fly.
But you can ride my snake. And I can share your
sins. All your sins. Because I am for rent. Body and soul. Body and soul.
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