I want you.

Your eyes
and your biting tongue;
will I ever see you?

Your layers don't show;
let me take them apart
like watered wafers.

I don't know what's
going on with you;
end up pining over you,
writing pop lyrics.

I can't engage you,
though I really want to.
I want to open up to you
without fear that I might enamour
my organs with a sheen.

We talk plastic,
and think plastic -
but we want to act
plastically.

The thing is always easier
to label,
but where are the schematics?

I want to drive you.
I want to kiss you.
I want to feed off of you.
I want you.