Making Love To Frank O' Hara *Warning! Contains adult content and language.*

*Warning! Contains adult content and language.*
309 words

Making Love To Frank O' Hara

A gin tonic burns my skin, bathes me with the pleasure of your first name. I cool myself in the white sculpture of your words, waiting to be colored. Sometimes I can be so damned literary, and you, so damned raw and quirky. When the lights go out I will disappear into a world of free will driven by the sweetness of Frost. But you don't mind. You like the incongruities of my behavior and trust that I won't die in the falsity of sentimentalism.

I could walk with you through a million exchanges of intimate yells that call me to ignore the rules, to just let go and enjoy the fuck. Anything can come when I fondle the erection of the poetry that bursts out of you. Your freedom liberates me, corrupts me with the creative act of your sex. I enter the echoes of your soul, trembling, swaying, straddling your essence.

You remove the condom between my lips and smear them with the juices of your tongue. I want to fuck you. I can handle love like this, being outside myself for awhile, floating on the brim of a lake, riding the waves of orgasm as I hear your elegies to Rachmaninoff and Schoenberg play in my head. There's a faint trace of pain in your relaxed honesty but you quickly remind me that it's simple and interesting.

Tomorrow I will pleasure you with horizontal and vertical strokes, taking you inside my mouth-completely. Tomorrow we will be New Yorkers together, drawing shallow breaths between the brick and mortar of a no nonsense city. Tomorrow I will ask you questions without waiting for you to answer. And tomorrow I will leave you for Merrill as you watch me say goodbye.

"Good girl!"

"Don't be obedient. Be excellent!"