but I know that one plus one equals two,
and that this little piece of addi(c)tion
is what keeps us all wanting.
Counting by twos has never been in my skill set,
curbing the loneliness,
playing spin the bottle in the darkness,
asking faceless nameless questions
that echo back in deep thrumming tones,
“Who are you?”
I’ve never learned to crave that which tastes
like desire and something carbonated,
fizzing on tongues
like soda overflowing on the sticky grocery store tile.
I want more than just the acidic bite
of a sugary high,
and I don’t know where I can find it.
It’s not stocked at Walmart,
and it’s not waiting behind glass at the deli,
and I’ve yet to see it packaged safe in plastic.
I’m not sure where it is,
this nameless shapeless thing that’s got us all wandering the dark streets,
bumping off of each other like pieces stuck in a pinball machine.
Metal or flesh?
That is always the question.