Two bubble-headed lovers br joined by a spring br clasp each other on my desk. br He has his arms propped up br & his legs together. br She has her legs spread wide br & her arms crossed coolly under her head. br br If I squeeze their Lucite legs, br he seems to pump against her thighs, br (though he has no penis) br & she, in her transparent plastic passion, br coldly receives him br (though she has no cunt). br br It is only a toy, br a silly Lucite gewgaw, br a glorified paperclip br bought at a glorified br paperclip store. br br But he has an air bubble br where his heart should be br & she a larger one br where her womb would be, br & no matter how many poems br I clasp between their empty heads br their lovemaking will never change br until the plastic melts, br or they both are br br broken.