Torn and discolored.
My arms will play as your pant leg.
The very mouth I used to suck cock
with will come as the copper zipper.
My pubes are the very threads that
make up the inseam that cuts between
your inner thigh. I can feel the joy
in being a favorite pair of your jeans.
Especially in public bathrooms where
I’m pulled down relentlessly to those
creamy ankles. The belt hangs loose
and limp on floors that look like
they haven’t been mopped for months.
I would fit perfectly at the butt,
and around your 32 inch waist
directly below stomach, chest
and a land of freckles.
And when you’re done
pulling me from each
lovely leg before a hot shower,
I shall hang pressed on a wire
hanger like I was never worn.
Shane Allison has been called a nigger, a faggot, and a genius. His poems have appeared in Mississippi Review, New Delta Review, Oyster Boy Review, Plum Ruby Review, Coal City Review, Chiron Review, Absinthe Literary Review, and others. His chapbooks Black Fag and Cock and Balls continue to wreak havoc. He is friends with poet, Jarret Keene.