Body, flesh, stink
an exploding mass of impulses.

I am physical, hormonal, not
within my own control;

I am a list of concepts, no more coherence
will flow from these quivering lips.

So sate them with a higher flavour,
toxic enough to fool my instincts,

reverse my mind and drive me half
to heaven, half to hell with madness.

Taint my youthful goblet with the
lust of age, and knowing

one-seventh sin
six-sevenths sensation

crack the phial over my hot tongue
and let the liquid fever sweat from

naïve pores. Hit my belly with it;
make it broil, bring to the boil,

wait for an equal whose hunger
will consume my own,

whose wantings I may satisfy. And so
infuse us with passion for the

white knuckled, tight muscled
teen-troubled one night stand.