she dreamed she was a fuck
and the fuck dreamed it was her

	As she passed her hand across my chest,
	a million percolating fireflies 
	danced their psycho naked dance
	between the layers of my skin

the body is a transformation --
occurrence goes on and on

		She talks a lot,
		I rarely listen,
		But the sound of her voice can be entertaining
		or soothing
		or arousing

it's no shock the clear oceans of her soul
become the shallow winding streams of her person

				The fucking bitch says
				all I care about is sex
				She thinks I don't respect her
				Why does she take these words
				so seriously?

or the strange turn she gives her mouth on joyful occasions
once indicated sadness

						Her tears are love
						Her tears are stupid fucking 
						madness
						Joy
						Delusion
						sex

are all our hopes and dreams any different?
we bustle around, looking for what?