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Jesus Gave Me a Blowjob

in the front seat of my car.
It was a miracle.
He was beautiful.
I shot a load in his almighty beard.

Slipped my phone number
in his crown of thorns.
His head fit like latex gloves
between my legs.

"I'll call you later," he said.
I can tell he's not the type to forget faces.
He actually calls the next morning.

"Last night was great.
I want to see you again
over breakfast."

He asked how my day was
and if I got the green boots I wanted.
"If you need anything at all don't hesitate to call," he said.
This was very generous of Jesus.

He asked if my mother
was still being a pain in the ass and
if my father knows I'm happy,
healthy & making money.

He said, "I like men who love
to take it in the ass."
I found out he's been married

for twenty years.
A son in the army.
A daughter with a degree in Advertising,

& children of her own.
Calling him would be a mission impossible.
so I settled for head in the front seat
of a black Celica in the parking lot

of a shopping mall after closing.
The windows up,
the radio turned down like the Levis
around my ankles.

His tongue is a roller coaster
down the track
of my throat in a seedy hotel with HBO

& the Playboy channel.
Come on baby,
Give me some quarters

for the vibrating bed
that sits on olive green shag
carpet that smells like stale piss
owned by a fat,

over weight Mexican
whose English is jagged,
whose hands are tinged with
kerosene from the heater in his

bedroom from around the corner
from the lobby decorated
with a black and white 9 inch t.v.,

orange sofas & wallpaper coming
undone with the glue crack & bulk
falling to the floor.

Where the cock roaches are bigger
than my thumb, & rats live on lobster,
sleeping in queen sized beds.
He plans to leave his wife.

He wants to spend the rest of his life
feeding me grapes in bed
while we watch American Werewolf
in London for the sixth time.

Let's run away together
in your 64 Thunderbird
to Las Vegas

for a quicky wedding
where the justice
of the peace is an

Elvis impersonator.
Bible in one hand,
Fried peanut butter
& banana sandwich in the other.

He said,
"I can't leave my children.
My wife wants things like
it used to be."

Vacations to Busch Gardens
Romantic rendezvous
to Aspen.

Fake orgasms
in a heart shaped bed
of the honey moon suite,

plates of pot roast,
mouth stuffed with
strawberry short cake
on special occasions.

He calls me crying,
sniveling snot.
"I'm sorry, but I can't
see you anymore."

I'm cocooned on the black leather sofa,
knees pulled to chest
and hoping for more true love without its crown of thorns.

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