Sweet Boy, Gimme Yr Ass

On my ************* my parents gave me a big hardback copy of the Collected Poems of Allen Ginsberg. I imagine they didn't look very carefully at the contents, they just wanted me to have Howl and a few others my Dad had loved. It included this totally exciting poem, which I read over and over again, and when I read it I would often masturbate afterwards, picturing the details. The way he describes Carlos' body, it was just like he was scrutinizing my own and it turned me on.

Sweet Boy, Gimme Yr Ass

lemme kiss your face, lick your neck
touch your lips, tongue tickle tongue end
nose to nose, quiet questions
ever slept with a man before?
hand stroking your back slowly down to the cheeks' moist hair soft asshole
eyes to eyes blur, a tear strained from seeing—

Come on boy, fingers thru my hair
Pull my beard, kiss my eyelids, tongue my ear, lips light on my forehead
—met you in the street you carried my package—
Put your hand down to my legs,
touch if it's there, the prick shaft delicate
hot in your rounded palm, soft thumb on cockhead—

Come on come on kiss my full lipped, wet tongue, eyes open—
an!mal in the zoo looking out of skull cage—you
smile, I'm here so are you, hand tracing your abdomen
from nipple down rib cage smooth skinn'd past belly veins, along muscle
     to your silk-shiny groin
across your long prick down your right thigh
up the smooth road muscle wall to titty again—
Come on go down on me your throat
swallowing my shaft to the base tongue
cock solid suck—
I'll do the same your stiff prick's soft skin, lick your ass—

Come on Come on, open up, legs apart here is this pillow
under your buttock
Come on take it here's vaseline the hard on here's
your old ass lying easy up in the air—here's
a hot prick at yr soft-mouthed asshole—just relax and let it in—
Yeah just relax hey Carlos lemme in, I love you, yeah how come
you came here anyway except this kiss this hug this mouth these
     two eyes looking up, this hard slow thrust this
          softness this relaxed sweet sigh?

                         3 January 1974, to C. R.

Still gets me hot in a languid, slow building sort of way. Ginsberg himself I saw at a reading once, and he was fascinating but physically not attractive to me at all. But years later, when I was 18 and just arrived in New York, I met these two boys at a John Cage concert, they were just a little older than me, one of them was skinny and blonde, the other was a bit chubby and dark and a little camp in an educated fanboyish sort of way. They were clearly intimate with each other and they were talking about Allen this and Allen that, gossiping about people who were there and old art & music people who to me were famous and fabulous. It became obvious talking to them that this dark curly-haired boy was Ginsberg's live-in lover boy. Trying to dope it out I asked him at one point if he worked for Ginsberg and he laughed and said archly 'well – I work him over'. I never saw them again but I thought about these two boys for years, the little glimpse through that little window of opportunity, into Ginsberg's sex life, and those boys servicing each other and that brilliant, lascivious, wet-lipped old libertine visionary poet was so exciting. I came thinking of the poem and the whole scene many, many times.

The above picture of the young Ginsberg was sent to me a while back because it looked just like me. I suppose it's ok to put a circuitously narcissistic cherry on top of a post about Allen Ginsberg. Anyway I am still tongue-tied after reading the poem. Go get 'em, boys.