p.s. I know it is not Sunday today but it made a better title
slow sunday prose
I fall in love with
a story is not just a story but
a window; watching
other people’s lives like
the smell of skin under glass
I like to live vicarious
then shelve them when I’m full and brimming with
sweet soft sounds of
distant loves and
You are not
I messaged you last night by email.
We often speak in pixels; telephone rarely.
Electronic best friend,
Somewhere you are a person
On the other end of our paper cup ---- and ---- string
Speaking into the electric air.
I receive your words at the notification sound.
No outer shell
We commune, plugged in
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.