Hero

Man looks over my shoulder as


he always does


as if he has the right to validate


whom I choose to be


commenting with penis in hand


about all of his accomplished deeds


what a hero, what a man

He keeps talking so I imagine a


man whom I want to see


what's the difference between


a memory and a dream when they


are both done? It's all


the same to me


He makes remarks about my form


with shallow thrusts of lust


and I am left to ignore his


simple animalistic longing




I've already written these words a


million times


I've already repeated the liars


and these lines


I already know what the outcome


will be, I laugh


tho' it pains him

Will I meet all of the men who


have left good effect on me


will I touch all those lips and


see, I, have these dreams


these eyes looking at me


hesitate, then a kiss


considering if the fantasy is


better than the reality of this hero




Man coughs again, reminding me of his


private reality, everyone in the world


can see, except for me. Then he's


also just a dream or a memory.