Are you my
android Bob?
I'm browsing
through the catalogue,
clicking through
ebay pages,
watching the shop
windows
from the corner
of my eye.
Are you my
android Bob?
Is your skin
metallic blue or
plastoid pale?
Are your eyes the
bold gray
of spring
mornings or
the soft gray of
the mourning
dove's feathered wing?
Will I run my
hands through
the soft bristle
brush of your fine, short hair
or will I envy
its length
which you wear in
a knot
atop your head
during the day?
Are you my
android Bob,
companion and
champion,
secretary and
chef,
the reciter of
obscure poetry,
the solver of
difficult crosswords,
the creator of
private gardens where
I shall walk in
the evening,
among lightning
bugs, June beetles
and the
occasional white moth?
Are you my
android Bob?
I'm watching the
ads on television,
reading the
brochures in the mail;
I'm seeing your
figure in the magazines,
your reflection
in my dreams.
One day, any day
now,
maybe tomorrow,
I'll find you
or you'll find me
and when we meet,
you'll have a
question for me,
and to that
question,
I will say yes.
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