But, you know, literary sex. Intellectual. By Lee Webber.
In vogue, with sodomite gait and a wink,
I kiss your grave and mouth your name, and then
imagine Savoy tables, amber drinks,
my buttocks tight like all your suppered men!
Just charm me Wilde. Im done with being coy.
I want a cigarette case made of gold.
I’ll let you feast on me, I’ll be your boy,
let scandal, infamy, pure love unfold!
Now lipstick covers you, your pigment shroud,
I hope you know the wonder that you give,
a homemade epitaph spells it out loud,
says here lies the best man who ever lived.
I’ll leave you, cursing Victorian luck,
I’d sell my soul for one Wildean fuck.