I offer it to your for individual sale,
from me, to you,

red and wet and ready,
pulsing with need.

and you, chubby and white and somehow ready for war,
please it.
how silly
to make this call,
to make life, love
like this,
collecting you, on a chain, funny names,
and funnier insecurities,
and me, needing the center,
and all of us, tumbling raucously,
through all of this,
in search of
a comfortable fit.

one thing in common,
an uncomfortable fit,
burdensome habitus,
the cliched life outside striving for a niche within,
burrowing,
clinging to sides that shake us off,
suckling at breasts that turn cold before our twisting stomaches,
tracing dreams that stubbornly refuse to provide us with paths.

would-be revolutionaries, businessmen, prostitutes, adventurers, artists,
we are without, struggling within.

meanwhile it doesn't matter who you are,
give me your dick and I'll make a decision
to wet it up
and give it to myself,
cringing while I kiss.