Dear Machine

I've loved you by accident.

There are happenstances and there are happenstances.

Once, there was a sea and it saddened me with its shells and its starfish.

The starfish were tiny hands, each a gradual transition into empty.

Empty story. Empty galaxy. The sand torn away by the tide.

Then, like a piston, the hard teeth of you.


If I were a vestibule I would remain silent. I would let you in. I would ajar.

Meanwhile the sand grit hushes the floorboards even though

I am a hallway. I am the gasp of a match on a heel.


Dear silica, shine on. Grind the oak to powder.

Buff the skin, the last erotic fever

And be the buzz of the engine, gassed up on rocket fuel.