Kip Kierman

Kip Kierman

“I lean over him in the night and
memorize the geography of his
body with my hands.”
—Tennessee Williams
Letter to Donald Windham

A mere dab…

A tiny oozelette…

A nonchalant dribble…

A forceful jizz-jet facial…

A long drawn-out douchbag special…

These are the ways I miss you so, dear Kip…

Your strong muscular dancer’s legs wrapped around my neck…

The strangled pirouette your penis does there nude on the beach…

Your tight, soft testicles getting tighter as we do a tango in the surf…

A wayward wastrel’s bowlegged pair of legs after making too much love…

Mariachi dancing boy like Ava Gardner’s cute Peppe and Pedro…

Your louche lordly lizard, the iguana of your uncut Mexican night…

All the different ways to perform “Petrouchca” on my bruised lips…

How can it be you’ve abandoned me for a wealthy Sugar Mama?

Your kept boy proclivity to be pampered by a wealthy benefactress?

Your fear I'm such a good lover that I'm turning you into a homosexual?

Wasn’t I generous enough being your Fire Island gay Big Daddy?

I wasn’t trying to turn you queer, I wanted you to stay str8t dear Kip…