Christopher Wingate - Dirty Little Typerwriter

Comfort me, archaic little lover.

Touching... feeling... pressing...

Rapid thrusting.

Thrusting.

Friction.

Thrusting!

Bleeding... release.

This is your last time in this attic;

You're old and worn out.

And besides...

You were never good at keeping our secret, anyway.

Christopher Wingate

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirty-little-typerwriter/