Dear Machine

I've loved you by accident.

There are happenstances and there are happenstances.

Once, there was a sea and it saddened me with its shells and its starfish.

The starfish were tiny hands, each a gradual transition into empty.

Empty story. Empty galaxy. The sand torn away by the tide.

Then, like a piston, the hard teeth of you.

If I were a vestibule I would remain silent. I would let you in. I would ajar.

Meanwhile the sand grit hushes the floorboards even though

I am a hallway. I am the gasp of a match on a heel.

Dear silica, shine on. Grind the oak to powder.

Buff the skin, the last erotic fever

And be the buzz of the engine, gassed up on rocket fuel.

Oliver de la Paz