how did we meet?
        at the bar.

i thought you were beautiful across the way.

        you lit up with the
        pin ball machine.

you dazzled every time the
pool stick hit a cue.

        i liked your lights.
i liked you.

        i decided to say hi.
and there you were
dazzled by me.

        this never happens you say,
after an
evening of talking,
        we find ourselves alone,

your lights hovering over me,
my flickering dream machine.

                                there is no love manual for robots.

you’re all made so uniquely.
        in a steel factory.

where no one has the keys to
turn the electric locks.

        i never attempted to hold one
        between my breasts to turn on
        your lights.
you had so many keys all that
never seemed to work with me.

        when i began to love someone else,
would that be okay?
        im not sure,
you replied,
        how ill react.

                                            who programmed you?

        you placed two silver coins on my eyes
        and asked me
        to stay.

and i couldn’t, dear robot,
        not to be cruel
but because i thought
i was right.

        i was
        following the morse code of my human heart.

why did you buy flowers and cards for me
even though.
                     why did you shine and
                     flicker and blink
                     after it was
                     long over.  

all i naively
remembered of you was
a softened dim.     

        now, i understand why you took what you could.
        the cold moon sullies a wet san francisco lawn.

small glints on blades of grass depend on how you look.

        what i remember: once,

after we had dinner in the city.

        there,

between

        turk street and 7th

i stroked your shoulder

                                            your lights began to beam and

you stayed put,
                                            as all the cars passed

us, and the traffic lights

eventually

        all
        turned
        red.