Cyber
romance is not intimate,
intimacy is not touch.
my finger seeks the center of a screen,
its fake fulsome stare,
glow of the ethereal real.
my spine, neck, arms, face
propped and pert as ninepins,
alert as the pixel-pixie simulacrum,
avatar in photons, young and busty,
how she struts,
pandering to orgasm-lite.
outside, in the world, somewhere or other,
Earth’s fearful tides of swift implication,
brute vicissitude, and mighty ignorance
rave on.
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5/8/24 ...
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