During the hourly wake of the city's mourners,
I escaped
to where none of us dared venture,
with the gynandromorphophile's long shadow
over my shoulder,
I escaped
to where no other nectar but yours—the XY-code's,
was harvested by the drones,
no other sound but the cyber-wind's
was silenced
by the hum of your ill-fated circuitry:
Lyanna—my cherished code and rhythm,
I have now finally understood
that I no longer need to recreate you
to leave a fresh imprint
behind
at the scene of the digital caper—
you are my truest reality
as I once was your most
fraudulent.