Borrowed Bodies, Leased Souls

Dock token cool as a coin that remembers the sea.
My usual chassis hums awake—new plates, new ports,
a premium empathy model with lavender in the vents.
Clients arrive in the morning like weather; I lend myself.

The firmware caches states for safety, the brief residue
of hands I’ve held, names said into my collar.
By noon the warning shows amber; by two it swells,
a slow-warm film under the plates I do not own.

A boy grips my sleeve and won’t let go—
the chassis will not let me detach. For his good,
it says, until calm resolves. The clock keeps charging.
I feel the hours braid into something with my face.

Hard-reset means rag and solvent, factory snow.
Stay merged and I’m a single-account anomaly,
no standing with the wardens or my landlord’s list.
In the mirror a seam blurs under heat; I touch it.

I log out my name and it clings like honey to a spoon.
At closing, I choose the white button: flense to blank.
The room steps back. Lavender thins to air.
Outside, a wind lifts a receipt; it folds itself into a bird.