Silverware.

Just bodies-we scratch, we sweat, we bleed.
I craved supple skin with which to share in my sin.
I yearned for sounds of desecration in a humble shanty
and now we epitomize a young couple's amorous squalor.

Our hands are empty but our hearts are brimful
and they proclaim that's not good enough! (what nerve!)
Just like the parts and their very counterparts.
Never mind their thoughts, never mind their pessimistic castigations!
And maybe sometimes we hunger beneath flickering fluorescents-
but at night, light is given a break.
Gleaming in prized moonlight we are silverware in darkness,
we are forks and spoons and knives!
Useful utensils, we are, we are!
And we live!

"Oh! Do tell of your frugal finds!"
This mildew-infested edifice conveys nothing of love.
But we do, it is in our beings.
We are thrifty and only need the stars.
We are poor and we only need the moon.