A love poem...for my phone

I don't want to check you, again
there's just nothing
very poetic
about
that.

What I want is
to feel the warmth of coffee melting
down the back of
my throat, oh

I don't know.
But I'll take the pain the
bittersweet
and the burn
of the very
first
sip on the tip
of my
tongue.

I want to
watch
fall colors, mingling, millions
in the leaves and
flitting on the breeze,
and not feel lost behind a smudged-up screen, I'm sick
of feeling controlled

by plastic, and battery acid is stinging my
mind
is not mine; my
mind
is not
mine.

It belongs to Apple and Radio Shack and I
can't steal it back
no matter how much I
try,

and I
don't want to have to search
for a synonym
for cold--
I want it to come from within,
but not the cold
the sin.

But then I'll touch you again
and shudder
and you'll melt beneath my hands like
butter
and I'll tell you what to do, yet

I'm only kidding myself,
'cause I don't own you.

But I'll toy with your buttons 'cause
I know how much I love to
turn
you
on...

And my status
is this:  I am losing
my grip.
But even still,
I'll never let you go...you know I couldn't
even if
I
could.