Bile, wordplay, lust and lesbianism

An ultra-quick post this time as I'm dead tired. A massive thank you to everyone who's become a follower - hope I can please you marvellous folks! Here's a more recent poem that I knocked out in about an hour - angry about a poet I read who used only prettiness as inspiration, substance and ornamentation. So naturally I resorted to plenty of bile, lust, wordplay, bitterness and, hell, threw in some pseudo-lesbian craziness for good measure. Enjoy!

I think I might be gay;

She nestles me in sibilance,

A syllabic sac of beauty like a kiss -

But with a tenderness, such care

That makes me feverish, unsure;

A touch on a comatose mind

That’s new, aware.

Or else a something-phile…

Sorry lover, all delicacy is yours

And I’m base jack in your elegant court.

I haven’t the romance in my curves

And no charm, none of the tact

That coddles your sensitive lips and hands -

I try to lap at it, but bite

Hard on the tract.

Maybe I’m none of these,

A bitter nothing biter always chromatic haranguing

Those doing it the way I can’t;

Pale ladies and gents that fold like water.

My form’s all sharp for grasping gums to suck

And hands flat slap on skins stretched up for passion;

I can’t make love the way they do,

I give a fuck.

And now I’d tie it up

(Although she wouldn’t have to,

She’s laid you swooning in the one-way street

Carved out while she was singing).

But sweet, there’s not a hint from underneath

And prettiness offends some primal part;

It’s hard to see the world as soft

When eyes are teeth.

Mother! Is this how you wanted me to die,

Tonguing your name with my dumb organ?

NB: Any ideas for a title, chaps?