I have something of yours.
I found it
    on the bathroom sink
    between the sheets
    waiting in the kitchen
    between pages
    in the blue satin box next
    to the bed where I keep
    my vibrators
    at the corner of my desk
    where I banged my knee
    at the bottom of a glass

It usually
    looks at me, quietly
    snores
    waits for a false move
    sulks, uncomfortable, like a
    late party guest
    clasps its hands behind
    pretends to be interested
    runs fingers over dusty shelves
    helps itself to a drink
    answers my phone
    opens my mail

Sometimes it
    becomes irritable
    demands free range cordon bleu
    wanders around ’til
    four in the morning
    changes stations, humming
    too much like high-tension power
    holds a knife to my throat, halfheartedly,
    rolling it’s eyes and sweating, only to
    forget why in the first place

I
    drive it around, trying
    to lull it to sleep.
    think it’s rather odd
    wonder about my health
    slip it a mickey
    try to treasure it as best I can
    wait for you to come get it

I have something of yours.
It signs my name and asks for you
and three hundred dollars and a
helicopter.

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