Robot.

...

When your upper lip
is taking some time off,
away from my neck
-when for example I am in the elevator
and you are in Africa-
I want to call the manufacturer
and file for a complaint
-the general idea being
"please, make me a robot".
Dear factory,
I am done with blood and ice creams.
Skip the kissing manuals.
Make me unaware.
Remove any previous technology;
no skin, no spine, no vitamins,
no trips to the ocean, no visits to museums
or memories not yet produced.
And please; no batteries included either.
...

Coriander has always tasted like metal anyway.
...