He had strayed
much further than this bed,
this motel, this cigarette,
this slurping boy between his legs.

He blew the last of his smoke
into the boy’s face.
Look at me
and the boy’s sad, watery eyes
said use me;
his lips wordless,
stretched,
like a silent hole.

The boy’s lips strayed,
lingered at the very end of him,
as if this kiss,
this trick, this dick,
this slavering man meant something.

He blew the last of his worth
into the boy’s face.
Here’s a twenty
And the boy’s blue, sullen glance
said fuck you;
his lips careless,
swollen,
like a full moon.