Bull [Poem] by Robert Beveridge



Two heavy cocks, midnight-
dark and ready to spit-roast
my lust. Mouth and ass
quiver, await delicious invasion.
This could only be bareback,
sweet taste of sweat, flesh,
clear drops of pre-come
against my eager lips. Thicker,
shorter one inch by inch
into my ass, longer fucks my
throat, both work in rhythm
so primitive I don’t need
to touch my cock to come
spurt gouts of jism against
my belly, chest I’ll lick up
later, after I swallow
two massive loads straight
from the delectable source.

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Riverrun, and Third Wednesday, among others.

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