The Machinery of Love

I miss her sly silver voice(Fluent in 108 languages)My refrigerator knew more of foodThan 10,000 celebrity chefsMy girl was geniusNo companion sweeterEcstasy through cutlery

Then she met himA vacuum unhinged by cleanlinessLittle room for meIn their spotless world

Depressed into desperationI demanded a digital dietTold its tastelessnessMasked supreme subtletyThe IV feedingsSaved me from starvationMy home is famous nowBut it’s not mine

Yet I am fortunatePoor pixelated MiltonMarried his televisionThe children fostered

I’m contemplating a new companionA single bedEnglish speaking onlyConforming its contours toThousands of positionsAnd just the right fit:Ecstasy without cutlery