There is a femme robot,
who wants love obviously,
she is programmed to love,
in a manner quite unassuradly,
her fuzzylogic programming states,
love finds you when it’s unexpectedly.
Knowing people in person is the way to be,
intelligence is unartificial as the best wingman,
an ungraduated student of language at Berkeley,
tomorrow is fiction that walked away while she ran,
programmed by reading that keeps her contemporary.
Sci-fi thrillers and accordion sounds heat up her fuze,
deranged directors savor her tastes from the past,
a facilitator of visual illusion and to some a muse,
dadabanks full of film and filling up so very fast,
seeking much more than a bloke with no clues.
There is empty space in her music sector,
fueled from the sea with rib occasionally,
spicy salt and sour fuels the connector,
comfybed and booze to share selectively,
is what she can choose as a robot selector.