More, More, More

Being rejected by Loyola's literary magazine again = lame
Being recognized by drunk girl at party for recent reading = awesome
An old one from October:

more, more, more

we laid on the floor.
you were drunk and i was tired,
you were bored, i admired,
but i pretended we were in love
while we stared up above
at the ceiling,
the wall paper peeling
like our fragile lives.
your words pierce me,
as i look back at you and dive
into the tidepools of your eyes
and swim around in our imaginary
love affair, based only
in our collective drowning.
based in our desire
for some life more astounding,
less boring and less drunk,
more soaring and more spunk,
more lives lived in love on the floor.