Our hopes float and founder here
boyant or sinking

in a sea of cum...
yours mine and ours

mingles and mires
our expectations

and rewards as we
hover and read

then move on..
"married not allowed..."

"I wanna do it on a Cow..."
"Please won't you tell me how..."

So many corked bottles bobbing
in random unison

from dark to the dawning sun..
the hard drives purr capturing

first than deleting your binary
passions and your life styles and fashions...

The collective unconscious makes
way for the collective id...

The 'zine recording what we
did, the blogs the "with who"

and we swim along in this
sea of goo wondering when

and with who we will sink
or come up with for air....

who will it be that will
care enough to try "a little bit rough"

or "sex with the two of us..
the yearnings like the burning sun

boil the passion bottled
within threatening to pop

your cork and the pressure
of so much work to satisfy

a basic need. The one left
when procreation is seperated

from the deed and where we find
"in the doing" that which we need.

We bob and weave and we stay
until what we paid ran out

and then we leave
believing in the process

or in the futility of our
lives.... "what a mess"

we think as we sip a cool
drink and share the tepid

dispair of loneliness in
the glow of the laptop screen.

We are here and then
we are gone

and in this sea of cum
live goes on.



-Dryftw00d July 23 2006