Love in Cyberspace

Once in a while I ask myself:
Oh dear!
How did I ever end up out here,
where these old perverts
lure young damsels
with their words--
or has the written word become
the stuff of birds
and all that misty, starry
fluffy stuff?
And when I'm tired,
when I've had enough,
why not just get a gun,
blow out my brains,
for I've had enough of love,
enough of pain,
enough of angels, moonlit nights
and cyber porn--
Once in a while I ask myself:
why was I born?
Just to be tortured and
to witness this???
To dream of some majestic
breasts, a long wet kiss
inside this hardware of empty
to dream of your sweet features
and your face
inside some phony chat room
full of lies--
no, I'd rather shoot myself
and die
a violent death
than live for this--
what's this--a kiss, a bliss,
or the abyss???
No, I'd rather touch and see
a real woman,
not some fantasy,
cyber mind-fucking me
and playing with my head,
for I'd rather wish that
I were dead,
than make love
to this screen,
where I'm just these words
on your machine,
connected to the cable
in your room--
no I don't want your
cyber moon,
nor cyber walks
along the cyber sea--
I just want you, my darling,
next to me…

                        July 25, 2002
                     --Alexander Shaumyan