How about distribution,
Another ******* poem To and About "love," and aspirational ***.                                        
            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 ******* lovepoems and lovers.     Misery a lot-
Don't pretend you arent enjoying it, you masochists, writers.
             About ***:
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.

To be different is to be alone.
We live in the folds of
Closed doors against open windows

We then can hear the treble of
A voice against each other
United in loneliness
Divided in an instant click, a shut off with headphones

But I dont hesitate. I stand
Even sometimes sit up
Think and smile for every word
I start to
Say
Speak
Whispering with a force
Like a needle ***** to the forehead which is the focus on us all
My mind cries then the tears flow
Into the heart
I then help tear down walls
They have built
Against the colors, noise and difference
Of the world. With an effort of words.

I open my eyes
They have left again
Perharps, to be alone is to be different.