You threw me a bitter lemon
from a hand so warm and pure
that I tasted the bitterness
without spoiling its architecture.

With a yellow jolt, my sweet
and lazy blood turned hot, possessed,
and so I felt the bite
of the tip of that long, firm teat.

But glancing at you and seeing the smile
that this lemon condition produced
(so at odds with my greed and guile),

my blood blacked out inside my shirt,
and through that porous golden breast
I felt a pointed, dazzling hurt.