by David Wilder


All of You

"I'm no stump hound,"
you told me with boyish grin
that ate my cock
then later opened wider
than I'd ever known
to suck a stump.

"It's you I want," you said, arms tight
around me front to back,
dark warmth of buttock's crack
against my short leg
long enough to be the measure
of your longest love.

"It's all of you I want," you said.
"Only later did I find no foot
gets in the way when we contort
to do the things we ache to do."

"It's you I want," you said.
"And so your less is more
to me, not less, for all of you
is what I love." You said.

* * *


Supine is how
I like to lie
with you on top for kissing:
That's Good.
Deep kissing.
Now turn around so I can suck
your cock while you suck mine:
That's hot.
That's fine.
Your backwards thrust is
hat I crave:
Rough stuff your dick
o deep I lose my breath,
I suffocate.
I lose my life
in taking what I need from you.


© 2001 David Wilder


David Wilder lives near Salt Lake City, Utah, not all that far from where he lost an arm and a leg in a farming accident. These are his first published poems.


BENT: A Journal of CripGay Voices/September 2001