Back behind the prison walls
There’s slabs of frustrated meat.
Beef so needy like you have never seen
Ready for lips that are wet with hot jizz
a smooth wet pipe of a mouth to plug.
They need throat and mouth and cunt so wet.
Their slabs of meat point out straight from
where they once laid pushed into a suffocating tangle of
hair and sweat and baggy skin – fumes of the crotch
waiting to escape,
filling my nose with the smells that would make me
drop to my knees and inhale the aroma
of prison jock strap sweat.