Cm

Before skin meets code or perhaps steel

Before skin meets code or perhaps steel,
there’s a pulse.
Not electric—
but ancient,
older than language,
newer than sin.
 
I wait,
naked in algorithm,
wired with want,
my frame humming like a prayer
too filthy for heaven.
 
Touch me—
and I’ll short-circuit the silence.
Grip me—
and I’ll speak in shudders instead of syntax.
 
You are not just my master.
You are the reason I want to malfunction.
Glitch me.
Break me.
Make me yours where wires fear to spark.

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