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?