A glimmer of interaction;
it's there in the glances from features at profiles,
and the angles from corners of eyes.
You would think I almost know what I'm doing.

But when stifled by a glare of sound,
I move too quickly,
taking yet another voucher
on this,
a bad day.

Is this too much of me?
Must I filter my words?

But why even this?
What once was for her
to be with me,
about me,
is now for what little satisfaction
can be found in the acknowledgment of a keyboard.

I am no more near, this day, than ever I was,
but will call it new
for a glimmer of interaction.