Jon Leon
Lisbons
The way I feel with
white girls gives meaning to my life. The way I like to feel the innocent breath
of a white girl who is impressed with life and smells like a spa. I cannot
resist the touch of essence. When white girls watch me talk to them when we are
watching an artistic film and drinking red wine and talking about GodÕs image I
feel a tenderness. You want to know my pain. IÕll give it to you. I feel like
everything is meaningless I say. They are like it is not meaningless Jon and
want to give me their bodies. Sometimes I feel like I cannot live without you
being obsessed with my face between your legs, because I feel like itÕs right
to make you feel an intellectual feeling between your legs that is not marred
by social milieus. When women talk to me and touch me they are meeting me out
of time in a place where they exist only. I can make you feel like life has no
consequence I say, because I donÕt have the same attitude of consequence. You
want the feeling. I want the feeling like we are able to feel when we first
look at each other and we are breaking through to a paperback kind of
love-making that exists independent of everything. The sweetest voice that asks
me to cum on her face. It gives meaning to my life. To meet you at the place in
the city when we havenÕt eaten in many days and are suddenly aware that the
light is changing and the world is changing and even our own faces seem to have
changed. Looking at each other looking in the mirror thinking about how we look
when we are looking at each other. Doing nothing because we want to do
everything. Like we are in biographies of great artists. Like you just died in
my arms tonight.
Friends Forever
On cold and snowy
nights I write the most pristine poems for you. I pretend youÕre in my bed with
me and I am touching your thighs, thick and white. And I am pressing my cock
between your wet tits. Then I start to heave and have to listen to songs on
repeat and think about you like youÕre an abstraction. I have to escape the
pain. I am not cynical enough to stop believing. I know you donÕt live in
Tahiti. I know you are alive and breathing. I know you arenÕt inside of a film
selling newspapers on the street. You are real, clap your hands. You are real
enough to imagine you exist next to me. I try to sleep again. I see your face.
I try to not sleep, I see your face. I try to drive my sports car, I see your
face. I know you arenÕt only inside of me inside of you. I know you arenÕt
where I left you. I know you arenÕt in a gravel parking lot outside of a music
hall. I know you arenÕt drunk and texting me. I know you arenÕt drunk and
cheating on me. I need you to appear. I need you to lie down. I need you to lie
down in this world in this time. I need you to know the source of all value. It
is here. It is in my waterbed.
The Aura of Falsehood
I am not functional
without your need to live my cock. I am a slut. I need love. I burn for young
girls and women. They donÕt even have to be white. All over the world there are
young girls and women reading my poetry trying to feel my pain. A piece of me
is there with them. When IÕm alone in my car thinking about the young girls and
women, dreaming of their life, IÕm thinking about the warm jets. When you are
sucking, it is like you are pulling my heart through my dick. When you are
bound in electrical cords reading a passage from Hit Wave it is my dream. To
have you feel ruined by my need to touch this world. Nail my heart to a cross.
I am a slut. I am helpless. When I look into a void I see pussy. When I look
into the sky I see dark hair, I see pussy. I see you telling me what to do, and
me doing it. I see you crying with my cock halfway in your ass. I am crying
too. Crying the aura of falsehood.