Mannequin Twilight

In the deserts, they once used us to model the effects of nuclear weapons.
Results: my 18th century heart was reduced to wirework and behind my eyes
I had dreams of statues awakening after sunset. No one would ever bet
on a mutated risk. You were the pilot so distant so safe from the bombs dropped.
Baby cacti whispered in clusters. With phantom gaze you pretended not to notice—
as if coins fell through the holes in your pockets in a crowd of time-clock mongers.
It took me this long to find you. As I sit cross-legged in your living room,
you are old and slightly cyanotic. You limp perhaps due to a blown knee.
You're going to go aphasic when I tell you what I want: to dismantle you
and place your parts in an icebox. I want to solve at last
this problem of body vs. unhinged thought. Lubricate my lips
in this very personal humid space. I want your last words dubbed in wax.