Threshold

There is simply no delectation greater. For your consideration.
The swither and perspiration of a gratified man, sr. Your servant, jr.
Without the profit of a cut-rate whore. A stripling for your coitus emeritus.
I am your servant, your consideration, flat-rate. Today only.

For tomorrow I may be as the Summer. In heat, prickly, high.
Thereafter, I would be as the Fall. Spent over that famished broad.
Subsequently, I rather not say. For today, I am your fauna, only.
Today and not thereafter. Colonise me once.

Let me suggest we commence with a lecture at the Cathedral. Paper cutting morning.
Such dexterity with the fingers and the knife. Create the most elaborate of shadows.
So you can walk me home. If I may call that home, that rock of paederasty.
Let us take some bread and some wine. I am hungry.

Let us feed each other. Let us cut paper animals.
Let the daylight shine and cast the apparitions. Zebraic, cobraic, tigric.
Let us drink and cut paper clothing. Let me strip paper for you.
Until we are tired and happy. Until we are ready.

I want to see the light when you penetrate me. It is the opportunity to discover.
To demonstrate to the boys beyond the barrier. The immovable threshold.
Between sweet and brackish. Between a hoard and a bargain.
Escort me to the last phase of this service. That which makes me a man.

Fatima Lasay, San Roque
January 1, 2014

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