my soul has pressed its nose against this screen
in search of likes & messages from you
or updates on this agonising weight
of time before I get to see your mouth
as well as all its picturesque surroundings
in action in my neighbourhood again
transforming my particularities
into little troupes of dancing iron filings
waving at your stars & their procession
people queueing up to pay for bread turn
& hurt their necks as yours goes sailing by
heavens below I’m bristling with static
& sticking to burned imaginings of
you /me fuse this incandescent circuit