Itís when the unctuous gag
acquires the shape of lips
and the purple spills
press against my chest
like loosened arteries
that I allow myself to recognise
that this elusive
imposing presence
is flowing from a dildo
cast with my congealed blood.

It burst. It cracked.

Slippery business
to kiss this ghost of blood,
to hold against my throat
its streaming tongue.

I fail again
to grip its pouring arms,
its legs are soaking mine.

Iím penetrated through holes
I did not know existed.

My head's now suffocated
under its porous chest.

This flood which was once clogged
in the proudest of my organs
is fighting me with fists
permeable and stubborn.

Its fists hurt me like fists.

It burst, it dashed,
it gushed, it splashed,
it clinched, it clashed,
too late to stop
this red ejaculation.

Ernesto Sarezale, 2000-2004