cobalt

O Holy Goddess
of the Photocopy Machine,
Fecund Femme, Mistress of Duplication,

I invoke thy toner.

Soul that copies black and white faces on paper
(heavy paper, heavy),
fresh out of the shower, would you dance?

Can I leap on you as the sheets fall on the rug?
(Fellow electricians,
Ill kiss her twice, to duplicate everything.

Bounce/ Bang and the bells of immaculate curve,
Ill press her backward, so everyday, with grease,
shell grip only parts of me.)

Gently then. Kiss
white paper suits, covered with soot.
I want to touch every inch, every margin,

one thousand times, on different color papers,
as darks give way to greys, as fingers trace Gregorian Chants.
Heavy paper,

heavy.
God, soft taste of blush.
As carnations

tasted pink. Dance, wine cherub, dance,
scuffle thy feet where no one will find them,
beneath the clean petals of the machine.