Steam

You are another copper heart in a world of copper pieces. A hydraulic pump. A tin filament sorting through impurities. You are the crankshaft on the zeppelin mother-ship; your flywheel is spinning rapidly, uncontrolled. Break our ribcages open and watch our cogs countdown. Watch us become obsolete. Watch our mechanisms rust till they're irreplaceable. Watch us run dry, watch us die.

Touch

Nerve endings like outstretched fingers,
hoping for a grip, a grasp
a touch.

There are promises whirling the tips of each pad,
epidermal edicts against being senseless.