“Lovely Vicki” read the text.
“Im home underdog,” it said.
Mentally, I penciled
“good humor” a wink and nod,
imagining hand-written note.
Not radio wave resemblance,
but silence registered, just for me.
I remember now how quickly you
traced my likeness from shapes you knew.
From three-year pacing, moon by moon
bearing our lantern for hidden desire,
by the slow patterns, I can draw you–
Orbs we cast, light, behind our pillows
Combined perceptions, magic potions.
I find you betray our vivid dreams,
left in my room, which I suffer to guard.
You travel more than is called for.
You fabricate too easily.
You say “love me as I am,”
and that you’ll do the same–
though you fear I am twisted
and maybe you’re in too deep.
(I say strung along and tangled.)
How we met seems unnatural now–
not the contraption of our viviparity,
It didn’t even cramp our fingers,
but a formal application of strangers
isn’t normal for intimacy, as if for life–
not unguided, not without witness.
(No fuss, no mess, the ad promised.)
Circumstantially as honest
as could be, or as stunned
into silence, meetings of our minds–
struck seizures sometimes,
from strobe-flashing hopes
in the other’s eyes,
blinding vistas of virtual truths
of words preconceived
fantasies of so-longing dreams,
impossible not to believe,