By Casey Aimer
Copyright ©2024
Like salting meat, his cure
for collapsing out of love
is repeatedly knuckling
underneath it.
He throws out his number
like white rice at weddings,
pours hot pints of himself
‘cause demons are delicious
when consumed in costume.
But don’t act surprised.
Humans have acclimated
to drinking others' blood.
Snags us drunk so we keep at it,
vampires hunting bad blood.
We call each other divine
giving ourselves excuses to suck
one another in for a night.
Sleeping around becomes mechanical
and he learns his heart is the same.
Only takes a few rehearsed steps
knowing who holds the right tools
and he’s in for a tune-up.
Each partner is a 3D printer—
he’s good at printing distractions.
He enjoys his new soft heart
made of silicone, flexible enough
someone can squeeze into pumping,
feeble enough to disintegrate at command.
It’s simple to store and keep on standby,
flushed periodically with synthetic blood.
ABOUT: Casey Aimer
Casey Aimer holds a bachelor’s in prose and master’s degrees in both poetry and publishing. During the day he works for a non-profit publishing science research articles and by night he writes. He has been featured in Star*Line, Ars Medica, The Fictional Café, and is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet.
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