Finally, stability. 
Finally, the fractal iteration of kings.
The legless herds lie still in the fields
and eventually the fences crumble
and the wilderness returns. 

Like cinnamon coaxed back out of the tongue,
this book is a formalist approach for a kiss.
Or vice versa. 

Like a kiss
is oblivious, they don’t know their homestead is meat;
is meat in an age of eternal iteration.

Finally I have met you
in this video of cyborgs making out, making out
with androids in the comments below.

Copyright © 2014 by Donald Dunbar. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on January 28, 2014. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.