I couldn't find a title for this poem, so let's say “my generation”

Dripping with desire
we exalt our nowness,
stumbling uncertain and semi-intoxicated,
pushing the outline of our pains
to the edges of our youth.

Virtual intimacies
pixel to pixel deform our boredom
our technologized anxieties
are blazoned on our bodies.

We articulate a need for change 
in murmurs in snapchats in our hunger for more
in proclamatory sex positions
queering the outlines of our feelings
tearing up behind small screens. 

We are perhaps prepared for the end of Time.
We were warned about atrocity 
Our parents have been watching it on TV.

It exists somewhere on the Deep Web,
and everywhere we look.

There are only a few millimetres of skin
Veiling clumsily our materiality
Just like all the ones before us
As we pause and sober up
Realizing that we do not lack love
but words to express it all.