Patched

Built a man before.  To replace the flesh one who didn’t want me.  From scraps. Every
  touch,
    slick,
      memory,
        smell,
          video clip,
            thought,
              post,
                look,
                  breath.

All I could gather.

                  A kiss,
                a tweet,
              outburst,
            beignets,
          words,
        train stations,
      wings,
    smile,
  some saliva.
Problem was I couldn’t get him to stay either.

The patches wouldn’t live.

Tried to sneak pieces
into other men. Kiss me. This way.
Pull here. Soft there.  Didn’t work.

Even tailored myself wanting
to be what he wanted.

Sometimes I beg the real one for time
so I can collect more for my stitched one.

Don’t know who we are anymore.

Hunched, scouring. Snatched parts from me to add to my amalgam.
Real him didn’t recognize me because I was missing. Then I noticed, even he was made of bits.