E. N. Díaz: DYSPHORIA

I’m not interested in metaphor;
I’m interested in light.

I sucked him off in front of the mirror
resting beneath the open window. He cursed,
staring straight ahead, face dripping sweat.

I looked over my shoulder
and saw a stranger staring in.

He parted his hairy cheeks for me.
His pink crack with spit glistened and rust
stained his cleft. Tongue touched to the floor
his testicles
in purple begging—

Light
poured down my throat like kerosene
and desire blazed
white as loathing: to bury my face
between those filthy cheeks and sniff
for days—!

Fucked out into him a burning
to watch him go up in flames
howling.

So, by the scent of charred flesh
/parted grass
flesh bud!/
his knees spread
wider.