Sometimes, I am jealous of your computer.
She is sleek and trim. Fast is desirable.

Processing never means talking
feelings into corners or rebounding

anger like wrestler choreography
pretends to feel what it is not.


Sometimes, I love your computer.
Me and Cthuga get it on

with some Ohio Players. Or the Gimp.
My hand between my legs. My finger

makes nonsense on the soft flat touch pad.
Chaotic shudders of scribbled pixels.

My index finger sweats the touch pad slick
and my middle finger glistens.

How alike we are, this machine and I.


Thanks, for the new mouse, by the way
the sensuous jolt of the touch pad

all day my finger circling and tapping
tapping and stroking makes me remember

too many women.


Sometimes, the cursor reminds me of your tongue
flashing ecstasy on my clitoris. Relentless melody
going nowhere until I jiggle the mouse.

--Svaha (Her Divine Serenity)