what happened?
we had this feeling
from all the calls and
attention we were
receiving that we would
be spending
the evening
together.
yet,
when we arrive
we are treated
indifferent
like
the mailman or
toll booth worker.
like
grease monkeys
to your social machines,
we repair and
openly present
our smitten smiles.
we ignore
the creeping conclusion
of our place.
a convenience store -
stocked with
loneliness,
lust,
fear
and surrender.
a desperate pup-eyed slut
in the throes of
a love recession, .
take what you need.
take your fill.
motor on for more.
Floyd Crenshaw
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/communicable-confusion/
