Vending Machine

After all, aren't we all just vending machines for each other?

A touch of never-again affection goes a long way

For limbs deprived of a joyous heart's inflation

This scratch-off love cuddling a pitch black drappery

And I, wrapped in arms unseen

With my head at rest on your chest like the uneven cushion of a carseat headrest

While the comfort of blindness sits six feet over us.

But there's an unease on the light's side

Anxities and pains, I can't explain

A strange low fucking with my height

My cracked glasses on that opaque cupboard shakes its head

"All is not alright."

I could have remained engulfed in the wrinkles

Of your pajamas that smell of detergent, incense and cigarettes,

Just a marionette holding onto its seams

Did you know I'd dreamt I was a vending machine?