wire-monkey mother.

as i cling to you,

the familiar-grey wire of you

takes my heat

and leaves me cold.

bone deep cold.

yes of course and i’m sorry that’s true,

you give me what i need

(if cage is shelter and tube fed milk is what i need to stay alive then yes, that is true)

and yes, of course,

you give and you give and what thanks do you get?

it’s all shiny on the outside, your cold grey wire

but there is a hunger

one that confuses the me,

the girl who should be grateful.

Why am i cold?

deep down?

It’s a cold i know is wrong.

it alarms me and i am the only one who hears the siren.

i see the cloth mother there

i have even been there while i could withstand that other more simple hunger.

Her warm leaving me warm,

some of the way down.

But i can’t stay.

i have seen you soften and your warmth flow

incandescent and luminous for others,

and if i leave you for that softness,

i might miss the chance of the switch flicking for me.

so i stay

and i stay

and i stay

on your wire torso

cold

and colder still

all the way down

to where longing emits from

deep

deep down.

It’s cold.