I am in love
With a red light robot.
She is the best work I have ever seen,
Outside and in, craftsmanship gone extreme.
I appreciate every detail of personalization,
Every line of production code. She moves
Like quicksilver, she clocks almost
Unnoticed. She fixes me
With bio-collection data, adjusts seamlessly
To subliminal needs I have never learned
To delicately express, or truly
Understand. There is more here
Than physical attention and cascade release.
Her conversation routines hopelessly intrigue me,
And I pay extra for verbal enhancement,
Passionately listen to all her aural delicacies
From the thinning edge of my soul.
I follow her eyes and the ocular patterns
Seem perilously un-mechanical, with a hint
Of want in the dart and drift.
I soon came to joy in charting
Her data-points, in catching her strategically beautiful
Programmed repetitions. I am not energetically certain
When infatuation with something's mechanical method
Becomes actual love, but my thoughts
Loop about her day and night, and my desire
Is always that I be again her next customer.
I could be happy
To sit between rentals outside her charging
Cabinet and only watch her, simple in her enraptured stasis,
Topping her seductive batteries off, storing the chilling electricity
That will sustain our next biomechanical encounter. There, I would
Quiver in awe, imagining odd jobs, inheritance,
Scattered investment returns, the lottery --
Any way to move treacherously closer
The time for yet another radiant rental,
To even, perhaps, collecting enough capital by upgrade season
To buy her felicity full time on the second hand market.
I bring her graphite and a funnel: she smiles
And places my gifts on an antique table, splits
The ambience, and shuffles a new, appropriate, subroutine in,
Fixing me perfectly in her expectations anticipation routine.
My heart beats like a delerious, at last unlocked machine.
