By Marshall R. M. Hann
Submitted by Blessed23
Date: 2016 Oct 23
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I know
that I instinctively recoil
at the touch of anything resembling sentience
(Initially I invite it in,
caressing it,
inspecting every alleyway,
every enticing horizon,
every nook and cranny
of its idiosyncratic body;
I am looking for faults.

At first
I am intrigued
by what I see to be beauty,
but then SomeThing happens
and I want it
gone.), though I desire it near me,

but then I sink
back into my armchair;
my fragile, ancient armchair,
I feel its passive warmth
and I want you gone:
I want it gone.

It's just that I can't help but sink back into
this chair
because it's the only thing that has ever held me, received me