One too many late, late nights
One too many stories.
The other side shines
and glimmers from nowhere.
Who are these sick people,
and why is it so irresistable,
reading their blither?
Never would've thought it would come to this--
where the personalities wont to possess,
to be in conversation, all artsy,
and trapped under in heat
are all doing each other
and while they call each other 'cunt'
you don't find one of those amongst them.
Four tiny men, a chameleon, two strapping studs
the one everyone always forgets about
and one who is most definitely out
and whose presence probably started it all...
Well, fuck. They're all out there online
twisting and sweating, humping forcefully.
Or kissing and sighing, gasping,
delicate as little girls.
Suddenly I'm possessed by the desire to lose
certain appendages and grow others,
forget the puddle of slime
I've grown used to sitting in
and just fuck; strong, hard, fast, and free
hitting that unknown thing only men-on-men can
all these beauteous creatures and me
till we're all coated in a thin layer of white
lick it off and start all over
me in his hand
him in mine,
take turns, finish me off
and see what comes up.
Pam Ehli/2003
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