miss-fists of love
fighting to breathe through the thick stench
of admiration.
lined up like a gaggle of american students
in the red light district of amsterdam
all waiting for one look,
one glimpse of glance or grin,
from you.
removed from that juxtaposition am i.
shoulder to shoulder with all the rest
i became just like them,
simpleton humanoid robotics
motioning emotions at your slightest
whim and beckon text.