When did life become
how many people you could try to
fuck in a year, a month, a week?
This marathon of seeking scenes
of intimate encounter
Yet never really encountering at all
Perhaps they're friends
Yet sex is the filter that stains
Oh, and love, even seeming platonic
is pushed away as if it were a sprinkled
poison on a dinner plate.
I want everything.
Your friendship, your smile,
Your nature shared over
The rest will take care of itself
No more, no less, no fear
And show me
And I'm hooked.