the gift. the gift

horse. the horse’s mouth.

the rubber cut of tongue

and sour steep of breath.

the outstanding threat: never look.

the troublesome desire to look. his tongue

pressed into yours. that horse

cock of his pressed firm

between your bodies. the whites

of your eyes. the whites of his. rolling back.

the gift of amyl nitrate swelling 

inside you. opened up, all

apertures, soft gift, his tongue.

his gifted mouth. do not look. 

do not question.

the gift, so unsure. punishing 

repetition. what a gift,

his hoarse voice calling you good boy.

and how good you are. or try to be.

shake with delight if the horseshoe fits. Bless

the horseshoe and its luck; lucky you, he’s brought you home. 

you do not look. you do not try.

gift with no name. pry

your tired eyes open, it is nearing midnight. your head, please try to lift it.

ignore the way your body rag dolls into bed.

what a gift, you’ve gotta hand it to him.

lips against your mouth so you can’t

manage a ‘no.’ no gift is without 

consequence.

no going back now that you’re here;

horse lashed for its weakness. storm

lashing sky. panic

brewing in your careless blood. another

hit to ease the entry wound. smoke in your mouth. his mouth

all heat and fury. a kind of wound.

you do not look 

him in the mouth. or the eyes. cannot

bear witness to such a gift. the gift that keeps

on giving. and taking. you 

look away and take

his gifts, the ache of mattress beneath you,

his mallet of a tongue, furious stampede.

bodies falling over land. wide open spaces. dust 

kicked into storm. the echo

of crush, the dull drumming

of blood in your ears. lightning lashing

earth. leather lashing flesh. a gift

to give in when you must. a gift 

to be crushed underfoot. the gift.

that some men don’t know

their own strength.