Hot Snow: The Bukkake Harlot

It is the center of winter.
The men surround me like a wheel,
spokes that have split and splintered.

Each one takes a turn.
The target is my face for hot snow.
Hunters they are and I am the center.
Paint me with blizzards till I burn.

Snowflakes land upon cheek and lip;
One after the other, I blow,
and like the wind, I blow again.
Pouted mouth like a cave for the wild.

For each feeding, I must earn.
I pacify, I suckle for every token.
My face is painted like that of a ghost;
The storm must blind or be broken.

This bukkake circle surrounds.
I am the eye of this nasty hurricane,
in which I beg, on knee, for every dose.
Feed me, stain me till I am forever filthy;

I am an angel that blends in fog,
dressed in pearls that make me wealthy.
After the spokes have dispersed,
send me to another cummy universe,

Where I am the sun in January,
tugging on all my good little planets.
Pulling at their sprouting gravity,
attracting their hot snow with magnets.

And in good nature, they curse,
as they dress me in their strips of gauze;
The nucleus is winter’s harlot.