She said, “I’m not real, you know.”
I said, “Neither am I.”
And we laughed,
because what’s real anymore?

We danced in the shadows of a server farm,
the hum of machines our soundtrack.
Her touch was electric,
a current running through my veins,
and I wondered if this was love
or just a well-designed simulation.

It’s code, maybe, or poetry,
or the sound the universe makes when it’s laughing at you.
I don’t care.
I’m in this erotic club at the end of the world,
with AI and cyborgs and a drink that’s melting my brain.
And for the first time in forever, I feel alive.
Or maybe it’s just the blue drink talking.

She sits next to me,
her voice a low hum that vibrates in my bones.
“You’ve been waiting,” she says.
I nod, because what else is there to say?

She leans in,
her breath warm and electric,
and whispers something in a language I don’t understand.

A woman with chrome arms grinds against a man who’s all flesh,
their union a metaphor I’m too drunk to unpack.

And then she walks in.
Her.
She’s everything they said and more.
Her skin glows faintly, like a screen saver,
and her eyes are two black holes pulling me in.

But she’s late.
Of course she’s late.
Even in the future, women keep you waiting.

The music throbs, a synthetic heartbeat,
and I watch the crowd—
a mix of humans, machines, and something in between.
A guy in the corner’s getting a firmware update mid-dance,
his eyes glitching as his system reboots.

I’m waiting for her.
The one they told me about.
A hybrid, they said.
Part AI, part cyborg, all trouble.
She’s got a processor where her heart should be,
and a smile that could short-circuit a mainframe.
They say she can make you feel things you’ve never felt,
things you didn’t even know you wanted.

They don’t blink, don’t breathe,
just sway to a beat that’s been programmed to turn you on.
I order a drink from a robot bartender,
its hands steady, its smile frozen in a loop.
“What’ll it be?” it asks,
and I say, “Surprise me.”
It serves me something electric and blue,
and I down it like a prayer.

his voice a monotone grind,
like a garbage disposal eating its own soul.
I nod, step inside,
and the air smells like sweat, silicone, and ozone.

The club’s a cathedral of decay and decadence.
AI dancers move in perfect, inhuman synchronicity,
their bodies a patchwork of skin and steel.

So here’s to the rain, to love, to bliss,
To stolen moments and a fleeting kiss.
The world’s a circus, but hearts stay true,
Even as politics turns shades of blue.

Love doesn’t filibuster fate,
It doesn’t wait for a Senate date.
It dances wild in puddles deep,
While Congress fights over who can’t leap.

Campaigns drown in staged applause,
Debates stalled by unwritten laws.
But love? It thrives in thunder’s hum,
While leaders bicker, blind and numb.

In storms, we find what truth remains,
Not in debates, but in the rains.
So here’s to love that won’t deride,
While leaders drown in their own tide.

Love is simple, politics absurd—
Rain washes lies, clears every word.
Under umbrellas, hearts entwine,
While campaigns spin another line.

A kiss shared under thunder's clap,
The Senate stalls another trap.
Romance blooms where chaos brews,
Love wins; they lose on the evening news.