robots never dream
and robots don’t go to bed
and their well-engineered
mechanical hearts
won’t beat with the same
blood or passion
as men.
and in between
cold sheets surrendered
to the darkness which bled
into dreams of monkey love
i can only dread such
cold stainless steel
precision.
feed my soul with dreams
pure like butter
which can lift us up
from the dead even
if all that’s left to me
is some illusion of love
instead.
