They’re not expecting an explanation, none is given.
They beckon to me from behind a safe screen,
savoring slow heavy breathing, clever testeasing,
seeking interaction by any means necessary-
in this case, evocative whispers
in ones and zeros.
Stale diffidence is the difference
between self-satisfaction and distracted attraction,
questioning the best of intentions,
regurgitation blurring the data line.
In that case, sexual
often equals threatening.
In time, maybe they’ll think of me
between heartbeats, on contact with flesh that’s too cold,
in another life when we are all just carbon copy squares
straining out of our molds.
In any case, layers
only ever add up to be skin-deep.
