You touch me and my brain breaks.
What am I but the cogs of star fusion
crying to be held by other cogs.
In the greasy morning the metals move and
I machinate with the slush and the lights and the fog
spinning still from you, fondling my cock,
telling me our molecules were meant to collide.
Tonight the madness of mechanics will return to me
When I slip into you and light the void of space
with a furnace of slime.
I will shrug off this eager awkwardness and
Shift back into clockwork cogs of counting time
till you rescue me again with another face.