Come and stand beside me at the window,
the world is out there waiting for us,
the way we used to wait for first and second post,
news of lovers stepping out from their rooms.
Now we just wait for them to post
selfies from their bedrooms or their bathrooms –
Seconds from you now in postscripted time,
never farther from what we first needed:
your window on the world has shrunk so much,
on the cutting points of pixel light.
Over that smooth, slick touchscreen
my orchestra, the garden my ballroom.
My skin alive with the scent of night
How we move together in memory’s bright song.