You make me blush and you'd better use haiku kisses in a poem.

I hit the pipe.
I slapped your ass.
I covered you with haiku kisses.

We begin as absolute beginners.
No sin to slow us down.
Nothing but wide open spaces and you in a fever dream furiously scribbling down your poetic litanies celebrating Christ the Redeemer. As I wrestle with my martyr complexes and drown myself in fits of spastic self-indulgent joy.
We must swallow our feelings because we’re not free. We are also not victims. We are still here. We’ve always existed. We survive as you decay.
Honey trickles from your almond sockets and I have never been this rock hard before.

I wrapped the pipe in aluminum foil before stashing away.
I slipped out of bed so I could watch you sleep as a solitary being.
There is nothing sexier than you embarking on your next Silk Road voyage.
You covered me with exclamation points and each one hit its mark.

Charles Cicirella
6/26/15