Gliding Toward the Lamps

1.
The way a woman keeps her house
makes me want to sleep over
to see how she comports herself alone.

I see from the street this woman likes to snuggle:
her alcove is smothered in comforters.
I imagine being curled up in there against the wall,
watching her tonguing a cruller.

2.
As I glide home I think of the Robotroid Girlfriend,
and I am gliding toward the little lamps in her eyes.

I have turned her every-which-way and never
found the fuse box. I don't know how she works.
I think of the way she lies rumpled
in the rumpled bed, everything inside her switched on and purring.

I would love her bare arms to scissor my neck again.