12-30-2025, 06:48 PM
The crazy clutter of chrome and silver studs,
Hooks and hoops, pendants, clips and rings,
Piercings that littered his unsmiling face everywhere
From chin to eyebrow, suggested a recycling center.
How much more hardware was hidden, I wonder,
On the skin beneath his torn, unlaundered clothes?
A peg in his skull to hang his keys or clothes
Would not at all have seemed misplaced on this stud’s
Head, like Frankenstein’s monster – a cause for wonder,
A human junkyard that glints, jingles and rings
Like a row of tin cans strung across the center
Of a communal pea patch to frighten the starlings somewhere.
When he passed by me, I turned my head where
I’d sat down to take a breather while buying clothes
For fall at a large, suburban shopping center
Near the stores that sell the crazy fashions young studs
Wear nowadays and watched them shopping. That rings
A bell? You do the same, I shouldn’t wonder.
My eyes don’t undress them. Their guessed-at forms are wonder-
ful enough: the slim hips and tight buns, the wide shoulders where
Their gym-toned muscles bulge, and the raised rings
Of their nipples under their tee-shirts. Without his clothes,
Though, this guy must be all metal, with one stud’s
Shiny knob poking his pee-slit through the center.
Without the boy beside him, for whom he seemed the center
Of existence, I’d have sworn that he was straight, I don’t wonder.
Merry, effeminate and infatuated, the kid tugged at the stud’s
Arm, flirted and giggled, though the two were nowhere
Alike, the youngster chic in his designer clothes
And not a trace of metal on his face, not even earrings.
Imagine them having sex: the boy’s ring’s
Stretched wide around the thrusting prick that turns the center
Of his being to jelly, the cum-stained sheets, their clothes
In a heap on the floor, the moaning boy’s wonder
How he can endure the love that bursts inside him, where-
as the top’s all wrapped up in himself, like other hot studs.
Oh, how this speculating glimpse that unclothes their intimacy studs
With thoughts of my youth’s recklessness the center of memory, where
Selfishness and longing spar, and sex rings in new wonder!
Hooks and hoops, pendants, clips and rings,
Piercings that littered his unsmiling face everywhere
From chin to eyebrow, suggested a recycling center.
How much more hardware was hidden, I wonder,
On the skin beneath his torn, unlaundered clothes?
A peg in his skull to hang his keys or clothes
Would not at all have seemed misplaced on this stud’s
Head, like Frankenstein’s monster – a cause for wonder,
A human junkyard that glints, jingles and rings
Like a row of tin cans strung across the center
Of a communal pea patch to frighten the starlings somewhere.
When he passed by me, I turned my head where
I’d sat down to take a breather while buying clothes
For fall at a large, suburban shopping center
Near the stores that sell the crazy fashions young studs
Wear nowadays and watched them shopping. That rings
A bell? You do the same, I shouldn’t wonder.
My eyes don’t undress them. Their guessed-at forms are wonder-
ful enough: the slim hips and tight buns, the wide shoulders where
Their gym-toned muscles bulge, and the raised rings
Of their nipples under their tee-shirts. Without his clothes,
Though, this guy must be all metal, with one stud’s
Shiny knob poking his pee-slit through the center.
Without the boy beside him, for whom he seemed the center
Of existence, I’d have sworn that he was straight, I don’t wonder.
Merry, effeminate and infatuated, the kid tugged at the stud’s
Arm, flirted and giggled, though the two were nowhere
Alike, the youngster chic in his designer clothes
And not a trace of metal on his face, not even earrings.
Imagine them having sex: the boy’s ring’s
Stretched wide around the thrusting prick that turns the center
Of his being to jelly, the cum-stained sheets, their clothes
In a heap on the floor, the moaning boy’s wonder
How he can endure the love that bursts inside him, where-
as the top’s all wrapped up in himself, like other hot studs.
Oh, how this speculating glimpse that unclothes their intimacy studs
With thoughts of my youth’s recklessness the center of memory, where
Selfishness and longing spar, and sex rings in new wonder!