A repressionist poem about living in the isolation of cyberspace.
A hint of steak
is hanging in the kitchen air,
another layer as the
coffee voices its descent
into my cup–
familiar bitter-sweet
across my tongue.
Last night
a bead of sweat
ran down your neck
unchecked.
A shuttered thrill
ran through me
analyzed, rebuked,
dismissed. . .
as I plugged my wrist
into the vast machine
and clicked.
An IV drip…
Life is weird.
IKR?
Maybe you are
sitting there
somewhere,
A tinge of smoke
is lifting from your
tousled hair.
I reach and
pick the cat hair
from your shirt,
with a lifting
three-note giggle
and a sigh.
You cough a bit
and shake your head .
With crooked grin,
you chuckle,
and I see the
“this again”
reflected
in your eyes.
You shiver
in the cold. . .
But maybe not.
I guess
I’ll never know.
Funny,
I can almost
now believe
you’re really
real,
as I free fall
once again
into this sea
of empty arms.
TTYL
LOL
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