Your face would flush purple
Sometimes while we fucked
And you never cried but once about it,
©1998 by L Deerfield
Poetry by Rowena Silver
Original Graphic © 1998 by
Liver Damage
L Deerfield
After years
pissing became a monumental task
requiring effort and concentration.
and your nose would bloom.
you would flush ethanol, reeking
out of your pores, killing the usual
scent of your musky sweat.
You could keep a hard-on (semi-hard)
for hours, but you couldn't come
easily, and when you managed it tasted sour.
at least in front of me.
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