In short: I want to moan harder than you ever,
ever will—so loud the earth arches its back
& quakes with pornstar begs of mercy.
The long version: I pay forty dollars for a tattooed man
to flick my tit & stick a needle in deep,
hot blue bullet catching fire to my bile.
The long version: I want to know if you’ve ever seen
a man & cried over the landscape of his lips?
I want to know if you’ve ever felt such glory.
In short: I write to you in threes.
The father, the son,
& the ghost.
The long version: I want you to know that when I seem to
blind you, like Saul was blinded, it gives me a god complex,
& I must sacrifice myself for your ignorance.
The long version: The tattooed man tells me some do it for
the pain, cleansing their chaos to gleaming silver. But I want
you to know, I am not in pain. I am good. I am holy.
In short: When I spread myself on crisp white sheets
and tell a man to worship my nipples,
all night long I see white lights.
Calvin Claudio is a writer based in New York City. He graduated with a B.A. in Creative Writing and a B.A. in Professional Writing from Carnegie Mellon University. His work has appeared in The Oakland Review. He can be found on Twitter @calvinquips.