Sometimes, when I am alone,
I scour the internet, seeking you,
Or you, or you, or you— or, you perhaps.
I think of it as fated, as damned even.
My hand can’t do what your heart can.
We’re all alone— life is as long as silence.
I prime the search, draft by draft—
I post the advert, the wants & nots;
I wait, scroll, swipe— stay away, lol jk.
And for a day you may be perfection,
For a week, you may be sublime,
A fortnight? Most likely my all.
And maybe in love we both shall fall?
Perhaps your heart, I’ll break in two,
Or most likely we’ll fuck or so,
‘Till digitised minds are changed,
And zero, seven, something, ____(?)
Is nothing, no less, no more.