New contact.

Sometimes, when I’m lost and alone,
I scour the internet, seeking you,
Or you, or you, or you— or, you perhaps.

And for a day you may be perfection,
For a week, you may be sublime,
A fortnight, most likely my everything,

And maybe in love we both shall fall?
Perhaps your heart, I’ll break in twain,
But most likely we’ll fuck or so,

Till digitised minds are duly changed,
And you are no less, no more, again.