Cathy said
his pinkened cheeks and
the long red streaks
wrapped around his insoucient
French neck, and
the rope burn around wrists that made
millions of pale and clever college
students
sigh -
"I am blinded by my
Panopticon"
- and the red distant lacquer of eyes
cast
drowsily around the
clever, progressive room,
were the work of the town of San Francisco.
We knew he would sample
the hard-gloss leather of the Disneyland of sex.
Of course he would lecture
bruised
and happy,
pink rubber hotpants beneath
his black wool trousers.
*based on a true story.
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