White Noise at Maximum Decibels

Oh electrical Baby, fuzzy
like a wrestler's backside
or the peaches
in my brain, with which
I am currently engaging
in baguetelle
and winning big.

All I need
is your soundtrack. Crackling
like a matchflame
or a plastic bag or really
anything plastic. Yeah.
It all rustles

like a dancer's skirts.
I need
sex, not sleep. Need
600 bars of soap
and something cumbersome,
a grapefruit, maybe,
to carry like a proud mother
and guard like a pitbull.
I need socks

or maybe some more
of whatever
made me love you.

Crackle on, sweetness.
I'm almost awake.