6 To My Casual Lover, XYZ
Not I, not you, she and he -- they -- anonymous -- meet for a night,
An hour, a second, in a second-hand store of stroking, second-
Eye store of seeing, second-mouth store of kissing --
The original owner of goods
(They are annoyed both of staying alone,
And of staying with someone for longer.) You and I
Paid a full price for what was lost or stolen, still keeping
The receipts; they paid a penny
For what was discarded: your hand drawing me my face, my face
Molding up your hand.
She and he -- not you, not I -- they -- should touch each other only if
They are protected by plastic --
A condom from tip to toe not to mix
With each other, but simply rub each other in a pretension
Rob each other of a penny, and not to leave fingerprints, treating
Each other as a condiment to a daily diet, or
Walky-talky-chewy-choky pieces of chocolate, peptic friends
(Eat and forget!).
They -- but not I and not you -- he and she -- two plastic dolls,
Their mechanism almost broken, in a third-fourth-hand-store -- play
When a salesperson turns them on, play, almost exhausted, the same
Repetitive petty routine of poses,
Play us sighing silence out,
Play us tangled in a trembling,
Play us exalted.
Simple. You masturbate with my body,
My body being a tense extension
Of your hands, mustard on your ham, bait
You tie to catch your fish. Forget my name,
And the same way you change your shirt,
Change my face to keep it fresh.
Even simpler: your body is my live and raving, brazen
Turned-on vibrator --
Rapt in drilling, trapped in razing.
You are a device I turn on, then always --
The same way I use my hairdryer, or my iron,
Or my vacuum cleaner. (Itís dangerous to leave
An iron on, and stupid
To leave a hairdryer on: a waste of power I produce
To use you).