telephone

ruinous invention, curse the day.
that you were made,
who disguises so much, and reveals the worst in men:
neglect.
locks us into a string of obligational
smalltalk
gives us the illusion of closeness,
disbelief at the pain of distance.

you bring nothing closer,
but only determine the rhythm of the steps
we must make
in dancing around
the inevitability
of all that is physical in between
two lovers
sitting on you.