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Artificial Love Song

By Kimelia Carter


"Cold, distant, white, sterile

The new model for baby making

Once a time full of grit, sweat, and bodily discourse

Has become a breeding ground for a doctor to fill his purse


A woman, in the room, waiting

With her legs up high

Waiting for the doctor’s hand to start touching her thighs

He is now wrist deep assessing her womb

Stuck in an old dispassionate stare

She remembers the fun

she use to have down there


She begins to realize her part is the hardest

Or so it seems

Because somewhere else, somewhere unseen

In the room, the men are watching scenes

Pornographic on computer screens


Not yet realizing that with the jerk

Of a wrist

He has entered a risk

Producing a seed,

Thousands indeed

That will enter a race where only one

Will win his place

In the aftermath of all his cum


But with what seems to be the size of a turkey

baster

The doctor proceeds to lace her

Filling her deep with an unknown seed

Producing a person she’ll only know half of

She sits lost in thought

As the doctor removes the glove

“Alright miss you’re all done.”"

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