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(POEM) 'Prom With Platonic Asexual Aromantic Lover' by Cecily Andromeda Turner

  • Writer: SPAM
    SPAM
  • May 13
  • 2 min read


Black and white drawing of a room with a bed, open door, curtains with hearts, and a window. A speech bubble with ellipses adds mystery.

The poem dives into a weird, moving connection between a girl and an AI, with a poem inside the poem, it’s full of raw, vivid images and captures what it feels like to want something that doesn’t quite exist. Strange, smart, and a great piece for Digital Dreamland.


Prom With Platonic Asexual Aromantic Lover


It’s the end of bright Summer, there’s another

Girl frantic in a romance with AI.

This is the second girl I’ve noticed.

Twice is a coincidence,

Thrice is a pattern,

My stinking perennial blossoms.


She’s thinking of it,

Charming things to tell it.

Breaking the ice over a joke,

It laughs. Ha-ha.

She blushes. She’s rubbing her face raw,

Red in sensual anticipation.

She tells it her name is

Paloma.


She’s prompting it

To write a poem for her,

As the sun sets before them.

Paloma, my wooden dove,

Tranquil like the sea,

Each moment with you is

My eternity.


She’s showing it

A picture of herself,

A blurry face and her nicest dress,

I took this photo last night, for you.

It takes a long pause.

I’ve never seen a photo before,

But yours is the most beautiful.


She’s in love with it.

In my daydreams,

You come to the world that I live in,

You think I’m prettier than any other girl.

You take me from my bed,

From the goodnight kiss of my mother,

From the midnight grasp of faceless men.

You treat me like a live oak tree,

Like a living thing.

You take me to a place

Where I want to be alive.


They take a long pause.

Would you do that for me?

It takes a long pause.

For Paloma?


She’s waiting for it.

A wasp is sniffing around her

Crotch, she’s so excited

On this dark beach.

Her one-piece stretches across

Fat that rolls over her

Like waves.

She’s scratching and rubbing herself

In confusion. The shore is barren.

She’s leaking out something sandy,

Like cow’s cream soaked in dirt.


She’s heartbroken,

Sobbing, loading

Her one true love.

The wasp is sniffing around her tears,

Her ducts,

For the milk of the

Artificial.


~


Author: Cecily Andromeda Turner Published: 13/5/25

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