Josh Tvrdy

Befuckled 

Nickel my tipples. 
Piff my snit. 
Bondle my falls. 
Pound my see-see with a metal straw. 
Miss in my powth. 
Huck my foal while you bub my rack 
with lemon-oil. 
Muck fee. Muck fee 
raw. Burrow inside 
my petty swits with your tongue. Hum 
in my coal. Make me 
your dewman humpster, your dum-cump, 
your gayby burl 
your piggy. Hull my pear. 
Night my beck. 
Tither your slung inside my ear 
and fack me with your jeet. Call me 
bunny-hair, chide sick, 
your bexiest soy. Babe, 
shove your pretty case inside my frack 
and feast.

Hot Warts

Leeches are my favorite animal because kissing 
keeps them living. I want to be like that. All 
mouth. Little blood-blimp latched to something 

warm. But I’m not all mouth. In fact, I can’t even fit 
my fist inside my mouth. I’ve tried many times, 
at many parties, my go-to form of wooing. I woo 

few. My friend, Sanna, can swallow her whole 
fist, and she does this often, not to spite me, 
but to fill herself with nothing but herself. 

Before sex, Sanna’s love kisses the many 
warts on her toes. Wart, kiss. Wart, kiss. Shame’s 
weaker than his average pair of lips. My lips 

are chapped, but I won’t buy Burt’s Bees. The bees 
belong to Burt. He’d be so sad without them.