Turning and Lathing

‘heavy machine girl3’ – by Humine_No66

Beware my ball bearing eyes,
tight-belted waist,
the way I twitch instead of smile;
the erosion of my inner child.
The way I put the friendship on brakes.
The scent of underarm sensors,
that cold methodical crank.
My tight, oiled cog which floods
whatever chambers remain.

My skirting lowers the gaze,
tugs at the curved collar,
breast plates,
visible below a gasket tight top.

I ratchet forward,
display my moving parts,
and the broken sensor,
the failed regulator
that is the heart,
sputters to a start,
“I’m not a machine.
I hope
I’m not a machine.”

© 2021 | K.Hartless


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