"* Batteries Sold Separately," by Kadin Gaviola

i trace fingers down my neck,

across my plastic-wrapped wrists,

lightly scraping and testing 

the hold and strength of skin.

it doesn’t even flinch,

that tender-fresh skin.

that’s just by design.

i wonder at a full breath

not for the first time.

when i am on the market

i glow with a golden sheen

to reflect my given value.

no one looks inside, not past my smile.

no one thinks twice about 

a perfect thing.

faint crescent patterns and crisscross lines

mark my secret thoughts

up and down my soft tissue.

the missing piece is just so

out of sight,

so essential.

it is revealed 

only after 

my bid is up.

finally i, my skin, and my thoughts

confess they aren’t worth

a spare battery.