BEFORE MORNING
Am I merely a machine
Programmed to adore you
By some benign
But quite coincidental
Conspiracy of forces:
Some kind of bonding gene,
Something environmental?
Or does my love contain
Freedom–something wild,
Blind, inaccessible
To dumb machine logic?
Such questions seem
Not just unanswerable
But purely academic
As I drift and dream
Through the calm before morning
Feeling your body's warmth–
Feeling joy so extreme
It barely falls within
The bounds of the bearable.