warmachine

Bone slender fingers
of pure alabaster
embrace the microchipped apple.
 
A bite with teeth porcelain
shows wormwood and rotting
as insanity subsumes yellow flesh.
 
She looses a chuckle
and a sidelong glance
while juice foams like gibbering madness.
 
It drips in broken time
from the icicle point
of her steel-fringed chin.
 
“O! Science man,
gift me an I.
O! Science man,
teach me to be.
 
Desideria,
your heartlonging statue
is realized from your nights of dark dreaming.
 
O! Won’t you please love?
O! Won’t you please need?
O! Won’t you give sentience; contemplation?”

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