play
I was once a girl dancing with my incestuous father.
Those were the days when the word awaits my lighter
Or was it the stolen cigarettes?
The shower without the shower curtain all above
Me
Reuniting what was then a gesture of pre-ejaculation
Captured as I was, a little thin boy
To their dolls and the way they sucked my father’s cock
By the balcony, where the dogs splinter, where
His armpits becomes our home, every siesta
Every belt mark when we become his capillary seeds
Playing
I was playing alone
I was playing to play
Four years later, a Chinese boy broke me
I saw the playfield once more
Reuniting what was then a gesture of love
A tall thin boy as I was
In love
With the smell of his virgin mouth, still a mystery
Even to this date as I play the field
Over and over again to a dozen incestuous fathers
Who turn away to cheat upon tall thin boys who loved
Their fathers a little differently.
About this entry
You’re currently reading “play,” an entry on CONFESSIONINGS by JON VERZOSA
- Published:
- December 30, 2009 / 7:38 pm
- Category:
- Poetry Book 2: THE BLACK PROJECT
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