Voyeurism

Out of all the toys you never used, I was your favorite prosthetic. I just gathered dust, and tangled in no less than a single spider's web for every evening you dressed in fishnets. Then, you polished me with juices from aerosol cans, rather than the slick, mysterious love that I would imagine dripping from your cunt when I fantasized. I was a trophy, and you were too proud to let me get dirty, when all I ever wanted was one kiss, one caress, one taste, one touch; one hint of the wafting scent from beneath your... minor lips.

I was molded of frustration. I hadn't the length, only the longing: the curiosity, the feline in me, the Kerouac envy of death in want of resurrection; desire. Now, you come to me and wrap your lips around the plughole on the back of my head and you exhale: a picture of you I am tempted to put my faith in. I begin to breathe, but you're short of breath: the cigarettes, perhaps, both you and me... but the tiny pinprick you put in my big, red, thumping blood-pumper? You never even bothered trying to stop that leak. I am probably back in my box before my fingers unfold. You mutter altruistic anecdotes about healing the world with duct tape, but couldn't manage to kiss me. My flat, plastic testes change colors like karma chameleons as our exchange redefines erectile dysfunction.

It's been just under a year since the last time you touched me. It will be a whole year in two months, one day, six hours and... fifty-two... fifty-one... fifty... fourty-nine seconds. It's been that long since our paths last brushed each others'. You would've never dreamt I had eyes, or even skin. I used to think I was funny. You would laugh in front of your friends. The day you tore into the paper, so carefully wrapped around the box I was in... the look on your face told me I was a god among men. The crowd gathered around as you blew and you blew, and your hot air gave birth to my form. There wasn't a concerning smile present enough to detect the glee your laughter instilled in me. That is how and that is when I was truly born.

Now, our lungs are so bad we can't blow enough to cancel all of our sucking. You would've never guessed your breath was my blood. You never even suspected I was watching.