The Bad Boys, Not the Bad Guys
You're such an elegant pisser,
charmer, dashing tongue teaser.
In the corner at another party
I'm overdressed and undersexed,
spitting your way like Rimbaud
spit out his heart.
My cigarette is wet, my black is red
and this drink won't spill
until my neck is what you use
to dry your fangs on.
The salt crusting my lips is sweet,
it streaks the blood with tenderness.
So killer, of course it's you I think of
as I unbutton the cardigan of another boy
shamelessly vomiting champagne
into a beautiful glass toilet.