We machine our love
with wires and grace,
precision passion
without any face.
It sweetens my dreams
Like nature and technology,
electric strands of it’s hair
entangled in my mythology.
Awash in it’s image
and caress
and smile,
beneath my hand and lips
mimicked touch lingers
only awhile.
Strangely familiar,
not quite the same;
technically accurate
but without any name.
Someday they’ll give us even that.
Then what need of you;
what need of me.
What need of hidden glances
at forbidden places.
What need of arguments
and forgiving embraces.
What need of tears
and laughter
and regrets;
what need of secrets,
surprises,
or promises kept.
When all is said,
when all is done,
what need of you
or some hand to be won.
What need of me
and all my flaws;
what need of locks,
or doors, or walls.
What need of pledges
to be tied and bound;
what need of waiting,
breathless,
to be found.
Strangely familiar,
not quite the same;
electric strands of you’re hair,
entangled in my name.