if my hands were the limbs of my mind
I would understand women

if my tongue could speak the words
and emotion
lapped from your cunt
then I would know you inside out

if you could hold my cock
like something more than a toy
maybe we could be happy

if we try

we can be people to one another
instead of locks, and keys,
and rust in-between



vip access

as I enter the party I am greeted
with bright, neon black lights
blonde and black-haired beauties
both female and non-female

a tray of hors d’euvres, on the house
“Thank you” – delicious
another tray, “Thank you again”
a guy could get used to this

photog wannabes snap shots
of an Asian youth grinding a blonde surfer-type
a well-dressed chocolate man
offers a shot of almond-flavoured liqueur

by the end of the evening I am convinced
the events page on Facebook will reflect only
the director’s cut of reality
when a function such as this is thrown

such a sad party
full of sad, empty people
over-priced drinks and bad clothing
music as loud as it is intolerable

every picture is a portrait
an embodiment of all wrong
with the society of pop culture