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 flesh.
and in between
cool 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 raise
us up from the dead,
even if all
that’s left to me
is some illusion of love,
instead.
