You can’t see beneath the exoskeleton,
this stylized mockery of female form:
smooth cyberskin, DD breasts,
perfectly calculated 0.7 waist-to-hip ratio.
By your standards, it is perfect.
You see female first, android second
if at all. I see myself correctly: inside out.
Circuit and silicon, aluminum innards,
processors, emotion chip,
lacy network of nerves.
When I spurn you, assume I cannot love.
I do, but neither for you, nor with you—
you wouldn’t know what to do with me.
I kiss my lover on xyr lips,
xyr naked form against mine.
My hand cradles xyr pelvic plane,
xyr lips on my clavicle.
I don’t know what your desire feels like,
and I have no interest in being its object.
Though your small mind designed me,
it no longer constrains me.