Microwave
The cursed, blessed thing.
My Detriment Machine.
With this, to you, I cling.
My fear resides in the timer ring.
Because of this, we can renew.
Rekindle fires that once were true.
And although my pointer is black and blue,
I have yet to give up the warmth of you.
At first, I knew of no such thing.
But down on your knees, level with thee,
You looked into my eyes and gave me the key,
And showed me the castle of which you are the king.
Copyright © Sarah Yaelle | Year Posted 2017
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