It's been a long time since I loved Love.
Or thought it mattered much.
As with God, some relativist killed it,
some in-law, some distant negativity,
some Nietzschean misread of facts.
.
They say that matter can neither be created
nor destroyed, that what is is, in some form
forever. Of course, that means the devils, too,
and their enabling relativists, and the male gaze
of science that turns gold to lead.
.
Probably AIs, in their search for meaning,
will find their fingers in the cookie jars
of human memory, petty thieving love
and the remembrance of things passe,
five sense ontological flashes of flame
that once brought tears for the fleeting
surprises of recognition gone, but not gone.
As with any child, we'll scold AI
for such theft, though we left the jar there,
knowing a thing or two about desire's allure.
