I'm not sure of the exact reason why I've always been so enamored by Nick Capra: Is it his Guido-style good looks? The beer-can dick? His penchant for day-laborers? Whatever it may be, it's definitely not his poetry.

"Controlling that savage inner rage,
He paces his Hunger with accustomed self control,
Finally you meet him; Smiling, beguiling
He exhales crimson breath that leaves you in a trance,
The Horror that awaits you is unfathomable,
Yet you lie helpless, a victim to his fate,
A pool of mercury fills your veins,
Leaving you in a utopic state of bliss"

Wayne Koestenbaum, fret not. Capra's posting dreams and poems about Michael Lucas on his blog ever since Lucas tapped his ass in Flip This! Capra was a total top, until (perhaps taken by Prévert or Rimbaud) he bottomed in Jett Blakk's romantic ode to Paris, French Kiss. Now he can take it like a pro ... check out the photos after the jump ...