Mold me like you’re Machiavelli
like these jewels are mere means to the stately end
through the still air like a gas leak
from a stove.
I want to wear you like Dior
to keep your skin safe
under my pillow.
is somehow perfect this way.
Wish me into being like I come from candles on a cake
Place me on the couch
and let me pose there. Ornamental
here is so tight and clean,
not even a secret
could slip through.
I am locked like a leather suitcase
in your closet.
I can’t stand it
s drag on the ground like an old dog
s drain me of warmth like a virus
. I’m staring at the wrong cross
drops me in a veil of sweet existence
but there is still no philosophy
to describe this