Old men bind their words in yellowed pages

bound in leather

with gilt end-papers,

but my words are digital,

carved of 1’s and 0’s,

ephemeral and transcendent.

You do not know me, and likely never will,

but in this instant we are connected

as close as lovers,

creating something alive

and growing,

giving life to concepts,

animating ideas

and breathing life into words.

The blood of life is not sex,

it is knowledge.

growing with each generation,

building bridges to both the past

and the far flung future.

Now that we have shared this notion,

had a conjugal moment

birthing this idea together,

you will never be able to unthink it.

There is no such thing

as an abortion for thought.