Each syllable pumped a heartbeat. Each word sparked the brain creating thought. Every phrase became a confluence of sparks. Every sentence ordered the...confluences. The page in which the body of the poem rested presented a field empty and open to anything. The body flowed on the field, not bound and stiff like a building, but malleable and moving. And as each breath has its own length, with inhalation being various distances between the lines, his pages rarely held a line to the left margin.. Well the next Friday night I had just taken a shower cleaned myself outand put my butt plug in, then got dressed sort of slutty as I had afriend who was coming over. This friend is a white guy who comes over fora bj once in awhile. I started drinking as I always do when he comesover. He was there for maybe a hour and I gave him a bj and he left. Ihad a couple more drinks and my phone rang and it was Rick asking if Iwould meet him. While I think I had enough to drink and I was still kindof horny. More

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