Making Out With a Stoned Boy

is like adopting a new puppy—bright-eyed and fun to play with.
Petting the hair right behind his ear,
like an itch he can’t seem to scratch, and
driving him crazy—eyes closed,
mouth open, and panting,
hoping he will be able to perform
without wetting the carpet. It’s exciting
but not exactly erotic:
Sloppy tongues drool down
your chin, missing your mouth
and chapping your lips.
Rough paws and untrimmed nails stumble
over blouse buttons, snagging polyester,
but forgetting to fondle breasts.
Hot, moist air is eagerly exhaled
on your face as
you stroke tender flesh behind his shoulder blades.
Giving him too much and not enough
at the same time, and
knowing button-down jeans
are too complicated without functioning thumbs;
He is left humping your leg.
You could push him off,
but he’d only persist.

What did you get yourself into?

If only you had a tennis ball
or more pot to distract him.

Oops, he made a mess.

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