Mister Mori thought I’d find you eerie
with your tepid flesh and passive face.
In your assembly I see naught but beauty
sans the animal flaws of the feminine race.
Your polymer skin is smooth as bisque,
your eyes a cerulean unseen in Nature.
Swains may recoil from servo whir and whisk;
the deus of your machina’s my favorite feature.
Your hardwired love is steadfast, unflinching,
though I’m a toadish sinner, obese and aging.
I smashed all my mirrors, dreading my reflection
but you swept up the shards with perky affection:
“Your credit is perfect … no reason to worry!
Death is for losers. Let’s buy your new body!”
This sonnet first appeared at Raven Electrick.