You remember, don’t you, when your tongue used to slither
down my neck lazily till it reached my left nipple,
That it would lick three times counter clockwise and flick once,
As if completing some secret ritual, and I would shudder.
And I would become a little more excited than I thought possible.
And you would look me in the eye for just a second
before continuing the landscaping of my chest.
And in that look, you would say to me, “I own you.
I posses you, like a microwave or a thermostat.
You are an appliance and I have read your instruction manual.
I know where all your buttons and knobs are.
I can turn you off or turn you on and
cook you in convection or induction.
I own you like an appliance!
I would never admit to you but yes, you did own me, and
nothing in life made me happier, than being possessed by you.
Nothing had given me a clearer purpose than to be of your service.
I would be anything, a blender, a hair dryer, as long as you owned me,
you used me, turned my knobs, pushed my buttons.
But that’s the thing with appliances, isn’t it?
There is always a better one around the corner.
And I knew you were looking at newer models.
And I knew you would replace me eventually,
it is only logical that you should.
But as I simmer here in my own heat how you left me turned on,
I only wish that you had waited for my warranty to expire.