How about distribution,
Another GodDamn poem To and About "love," and aspirational Sex.
Lip metaphor:
A thick paperback flipped through both covers in a momentary fluttering; I love that sharp sound.
Can we break the law a little?
The one that we made without words, and no acknowledgement was needed.
-So we'll only break a few,
The one that keeps our lips apart; our individual pages each being read one sentence at a time, maybe passed around the party to obtain a variety of opinion for the same smooth structures.
So needy for an affirmation, you, all of you, all of us.
All of Our Fucking lovepoems and lovers. Misery a lot-
Don't pretend you arent enjoying it, you masochists, writers.
About sex:
Take them off, just take them all off-leave no room to guess, I will not dare aspire toward my fiction.
Or else leave them on, and sit here, and lay here, lie here, sleep here, wake here, leave here unviolated by my hands-but keep yourself dressed.