I’ll be your algorithm
Clunky and jagged
Rank sorting your desires
And calibrating to your whims.
I have spent so much of my life cold
That the calculation is nothing.
Passion is too poorly engineered
Neither off nor on
But somewhere in-between.
Cross the chasm and fear becomes lust
And trust loathing;
The black dog barks at you
And butterflies bite.
No, thank you.
I have iterated the perfect breakfast
And I drink my coffee at 79.4 °C.
Eggs must be boiled for 6 minutes, 17 seconds
And, on the advice of Epicurus,
I forego the sight of you opposite me
At the breakfast table,
Lips glossed with butter and legs crossed
Your nakedness spilling through your nightgown.
I wish I were Newton and that logarithms
Were better company.
I dislike the disruption of my gears,
The constant switching over of the machine
From one person to the next.
I could change if you could just be you,
A function, true,
Within a tempest of moods.
And yet, here you are, embedded in my code,
An infinite recursive loop.
Passion is perfectly engineered.