Ode to a Vibrator Left on All Night

                            In her absence, my hunger for hum

and throttle took me by sweltering longitude.

For the right to claim shotgun I drove
a stick through the streets of Osu

while a man steered, yielding to clutch,

                           pressing us further into night.

                           I know well the sound, engine’s
purring plea for shift, and my hand the abundance

of submission. I withheld nothing. I want when
I want, and then I wish for corrosion.

Though I cannot lavish praise on stamina

                          alone, I must acknowledge a femme

                          fortitude. Last night, I tell myself,

a misstep at battery’s expense

so as to never consider the sentience
of a pleasure machine.

How her trembling must have lullabied

                         my drunk tongue the intricacies

                         of sexual decorum even in sleep,

how she may have throbbed

all night beside me, anticipating her
own reciprocal and tender invasion.