Tony Gloeggler
GOY
I tell you to let it ring.
You give my lips a quick
kiss, lean over and pick
up the phone. You say
Hello, press your palm
over the mouthpiece, whisper,
It’s my mother. You move
to the edge of the bed, turn
away and sit up, answer,
Yeah.
No, no.
Stop
doing this to me, Mom.
I slide across the bed,
kiss soft shoulders, glide
my lips down your spine, fit
my tongue in the crack
of your ass. You look back,
your eyes ask me to please
stop. I shake my head
sideways, smile. Not
a chance. I crawl out
of bed, kneel in front
of you. My lips, tongue
stroke thighs, kiss and lick
you open, move inside you,
try to make you come.
Come, while your mother
swears on the bodies
of her two brothers
gassed at Dachau
that I will slowly
swallow your soul.
—from Rattle #10, Winter 1998
