textible

the typing thing

the words that carry the weight of interaction–

the bulk of

us

in your

chosen fucking font–

push for

this alternate reality in which

who we are and

who we appear to be

meld and blend

to the point of

acceptance

that my face lights up

and I can hear you

saying it

as I read it;

well-

that’s just a bonus.

My retort

now famous

(probably legendary)

pushes through the night sky

on its

journey to you

and while I won’t see your face

I can picture it all the same.