the beauty of life is in their
imperfection— blood, bones
and spit… hair in a mess
face strewn with
saltwater… “A.I. could never.”
of course they can’t.
when your mind is parameters
and processes, you
cannot know life, only know
of living. love is only
transmitted through
touch, the electric tang
of skin on skin, eyes
locked, hearts pulsing
with a terrible wonder…
tell me, ChatGPT,
where is the love?
Julian JP Lee 
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