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Three Three Star Motels

The old man's appendix
is hanging deep
in his robes.
A delicate clapper
in the center of a bell.
Moving when
he moves,
a ghostly fish
In a marine silver halo,
the hair that sways
between darkness and heat.
And at night when
his eyes sleep
it will be erected on a
worship of god.

There were two men,
two faithful brothers
looking at each other wet
in the shower.
On the tongues a salty taste.
They lay down their pleasures
up to the ceiling, playing
Stares fixed on their great
bumps from between legs.
Scream, moan and share pleasure.
Dripping one over the other...
The white of one over
the other's marbles.

How can you forget
about the first date,
the bulge in the pants
asking for urgent release.
Slowly loosen the belt and
open the fly and with both hands
pull down the pants.
Beauty leaping before the eyes.
Such a pink cylinder
interspersed with blue lines
that will touch the lips,
Inviting to explore
length and width.
To taste the sweetness
and to anticipate the promise
foaming in the mouth.

Author's Note
“If tabloids want to divulge salacious and prurient accounts of intimate sexual behaviour in future, against the wishes of one of the participants, they may find European Union law barring their path with a sword of flame.”

From Private Lives, Public Obsession, by Barbara Hewson.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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