she sits quietly, nothing yet to say
beige dress, smoothed edges
cold and metallic, warmed
by my fingertips

her features pale and harsh
when she speaks it’s only for you
she has no thoughts of her own
or maybe Asimov knew

she glides across
clickity clack clickity clack clack clack
the soundtrack of her indelible path
the music of my thoughts

intuition brought her to me
my new, old Royal
two bucks