THE MACHINERY OF LOVE

I miss her sly silver voice

(Fluent in 108 languages) My refrigerator knew more of food Than 10,000 celebrity chefs

My girl was genius

No companion sweeter Ecstasy through cutlery

Then she met him A vacuum unhinged by cleanliness Little room for me In their spotless world

Depressed into desperation I demanded a digital diet

Told its tastelessness Masked supreme subtlety The IV feedings

Saved me from starving My home is famous now

But it’s not mine

Yet I am fortunate Poor pixelated Milton

Married his television The children fostered

I’m contemplating a new companion A single bed English speaking only Conforming its contours

To thousands of positions, and

Just the right fit Ecstasy without cutlery