In cryo-sleep I think she dreams
beaches and sunsets and ice cream cones
she will never swallow or taste
Complex enough to dream
to reflect and to judge,
but not to perk at the sound
of my voice
or the touch of my hand
In cryo-sleep she must dream
wielding weapons I created,
sixty for each second of each minute
of each hour I regret so many things…
In cryo-sleep I wish she would dream
with her head rest against my chest
as I stroke her synthetic hair and
reminisce-
how we created her from a young man's ambition
and a young girl's persistence-
How I loved him and I hated him.
How I love her and I hate her.
How I hate her when she wakes with
Kevin's crimson blood in her eyes
no smile or kiss or anything but
Empty Acknowledgement
waiting for me to say "Good morning,"
and when I don't I think a shadow of
deranged disappoint crosses
inhuman eyes
and I love her again