Liver Damage
L Deerfield

Mask2,' by Jim Davis-Rosenthal



After years
pissing became a monumental task
requiring effort and concentration.

Your face would flush purple
and your nose would bloom.

Sometimes while we fucked
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.

And you never cried but once about it,
at least in front of me.



©1998 by L Deerfield

Poetry by Rowena Silver
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Original Graphic © 1998 by
Jim Davis-Rosenthal

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