little prince

Maynard:

how I would love to be your kept;
and recline, legs folded, on what I imagine
is silk but is really threadbare Cotton

to be your kept;
and relish the lyrics seeping into open wounds
as your callused fingers find grooves
where smooth skin once shielded my bones;

to be kept;
and pummeled
and plunged
and reamed at will,
prostrate at your command,
sweetened by your mercy.

(this is rape.)

to be your kept;
and flood my breath with cries
of your name soaking my lips
while my teeth clamp the tips  of your fingers

and around us, music.

how I would love to be your kept boy.

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