Fucking [on] Facebook.
Tingles like warm champagne bubbles pour down my spine
Float along the skin of my stomach and my breasts
Craving my mouth. When they reach they draw out a sigh of longing Then burst.
Feeling your fingers tracing my flesh
Though that caress is a ghost.
For you are far from me, yet this fizzing
Bubbling Over me
is created by lustful words
Typed feverishly by you in black on white, By memory of our bodies pressed
Our skin sweat
By waiting and waiting for that minute
We touch again, hair on end.
This paradoxical block in my hand that comforts with
Your words, Your face, pulls me closer
Yet mocks how far from you I am
And pushes you further yet.
When times are more melancholy
And the longing is not for flesh
Just for the wish of a kind word
Or the hope of reassurance that never Comes
It dissolves into read, and no reply. Read, and no reply.
Saved nudes will be my virtual legacy: The girl who was so far away for so long
For whom ‘the timing was wrong’ That you couldn’t stand my nearness Or the fear of me leaving. Maybe.
Maybe Absence does make the heart grow fonder, And maybe loving you was easier when we were side by side or Separated by sea and tide and maybe no wifi made loving me easier?
Because I was sex on a screen, Soon-to-be-real dream, A queen of wit who you couldn’t see scream And cry when she needed But merely a witty reply or ‘I’m fine’ And you could believe it.
Read and don’t reply. I’m fine.