The irony of the future
Is the yearning for
15 minutes of privacy.
A small thing but
How do I tell anyone
I prefer appliances.
At least the dishwasher
Is honest about the things
It wants -- soapy suds.
No one else wants
Anything that pure
From me.
They have love and lust
And the expectations
Of first love and dreams.
Today I just want
something to screw
in the dark.
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