Your Virgilian text messages
A strange organism of sound;

a flippant clip
of tongue clicking south of the mouth,

your drama tastes like static and bitter
popsicle sticks, sticky and stuck at hand,

heart humbled by a declaration in emoticons
and electro hypnoses –

- our conversation
is wire to wire,

correspondence is a dead
act of our foremothers; a dead

fashion sense

full frontal, the glow of cell phone cover
blue and creamy white brightness, our
noises a stutter in an otherwise dull room,

a never ending footnote, intimate and
artificial.