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THE BLOOD WE SHARE

Haggard and heavy at the Horny Toad
you still talked a good game at a hole
where most men you meet drowning
sorrows are perpetual players of a penny's
worth of passion and I was no different.
We bought two for one whoppers from
Burger King with sexual innuendo rampant,
takes two hands and all that macho shit,
figuring you'd be too damn drunk to tell
the difference between four flimsy inches
and at least twice that in porno star steel.
I had thirty bucks left over for a room
and we sobered up long enough to pay
the beady eyed clerk, wrestle out of clothes
and navigate our nakedness to areas
where abandon would be less destructive.
Tuned in Clapton's “Wonderful tonight”
on that crap radio which I figured a solid
choice as every blonde thinks that shit's
about her and I figured as a graying
strawberry blonde you were a member
of the same narcissistic cougar to be club.
I patted my fingers against your pussy without
even thinking twice whether you were shaved.

Wetter than an April shower so I thrust in
like a fullback at the goal line smelling a six.
You were a lot tighter than I expected
especially as I wasn't growing any girth
or length over the years sucking down
cases of Miller High Life most nights
leaving not too much muscle memory
for the point of penetration so I did
that Elvis hip shake thing and came
well before Slowhand hit the bridge.
Pissed that I was a minute man
I jack hammered till every last drop
of cum fell into your wishing well.
I slipped out into more stickiness than
expected and I gagged after looking down.
Threadbare beige sheet mottled like a bloody
towel thrown in to save pieces of what's left
of a brawler's face in a brutal boxing affair.
Them moist bursts of claret sure as hell
ain't ketchup from the dozen or so packets
saving them cold and salty fries, rather remnants
from ruptured pleasure and I knew housekeeping
would be pissed seeing that we already cracked
the toilet seat when you straddled me there.

Seeing red literally and figuratively my tongue
lashed out like a whip uncoiled and I tore
you a new asshole for fucking on the rag
and that you should have warned me
about that wretched Aunt Ethel and that
she was not welcome to cradle my cock.
I braced myself for a return volley cause
chicks don't take too kindly to this shit
but your lips trembled and your eyes welled
till the leaks sprung and like a dying cat
you wailed for the angels to carry you home.
“I'm so sorry, my ovaries are shot with cancer.
I just wanted to feel one last time. I'm so sorry.”
The confession pierced me from ribs to spine
and I was nine years old listening behind
a closed door as my mother got the shit
kicked out of her from my drunk old man.
Compassion ain't a word I use much
and redemption ain't but a machine
where you get nickels for your beer bottles
but I unclenched my fists and pulled you
towards me feeling uglier than sin but praying
that you'd forgive as I stroked the gold of your
hair holding you like a kitten, pleading for a purr.
Quill-in-Heart
Written by Quill-in-Heart (Tony Pena)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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