The speed
at which he fucks me in this rapid fire text and pixelated hand-job
zone jerked off in a place of simple flirtation a glared flash
a unified entry an image so raw to frame this there's me stuck
in greyness of stark colour of worn reminders that this distance
stays firm between us can't touch even though he's touched me
deeply so precise a metal incision or that touch that only myself
or this screen knows forget all those boys so hot burning modems
flood in with cum dreams devoid of romance to break in jimmy the
lock until you take me. Aside.
He will never
be mine. He is noone's property. I spray millions of tiny light
shards, colours, for you, him, all of you. What is this relationship?
All about. In private. Yes. He and I cross in. Cross over. Game
played. To each a chromatic form, to each other, we fade or move
across, 1.2 frames/second. Like he's not really there. Reading
a smile. That figures. Urgency, an explanation, expression of
love. Do you love me? Our text disappears. Only snapshots of him.
What is permanent? Mail each other photographs, proof, through
a wire. It gets to me. Describing these tears. He gets me so hard.
Hear Boyracer sing. Will I see you again? Will I see you again?
Will I see you again?
Tonight, to
give these eyes a rest, shut off from poisonous rays, new types
of infection, we are geographically split, both sort of West,
Canadian/US borders apart, prised, as in, cannot reach you, for
now, kisses on screen, blown. Our names lose significance. Identifiably
yours. I commit to that. To send you an animated gesture, an inflection
via acronym. Abbreviations of desire, did I get through or was
my connection lost? I see. Hang on. Copying numbers or passwords.
These days
are beyond research. These days seem to sterilize me, reductive
and negated sex. This I want no more. A fear that he will leave
me or afraid of disconnection. To not see words. Probably an argument.
In our current state. Anxiety sleep, not slept, this dream of
a test, minutes before waking, what do I have to learn, you must
take me, slow, you must take me. And such intense half-rest. Every
sound is you.
I've been
here before, seen these boxes, him there, black and white, I am
on camera, pictures window framed, dressed in a dark blue shirt,
long sleeves, short brown hair, you are next to me, him here,
dressed same, both backgrounds neutral. This is how I see him.
And became love. And he says to me: "I find you more attractive
each time I see you". He makes me smile.
Erased from
the screen cannot take this reminder of him and now that he is
silent the days stretch out and stretch out and wait stretch out
and wait there is a link to our flesh meeting such time will pass
and then what? Where do we go from here? A question I had not
considered. Speed at which we fuck and the time it takes to forget.
Walk through the snow and with gloves absorb what feels like sadness
but really manifests itself as knowledge. A new way out. In this
forest I can breathe. There is that animal, I give wide berth.
Consider a
train, a ride with him. Have planned to shift flights, still the
year is ending. Now he seems like a goner. Suddenly I am drinking
way too much. People are feeding me alcohol and I say to them:
"He and I are lovers". I am afraid my body will be a
disappointment to him. He can only picture me in grayscale. Scars
of my flesh are blurred by bit-rate. Compression tactics. Can
you love me beyond android form? Do you really want to see this?
Does your tongue know? The way I touch taste smell? Resampled
pieces of me recovered, reconsituted. Coming through filters.
Sized up.
He shows, for what it's worth, himself, streaming and in part
smile phase. I'm preparing myself again for devastation. Meantime
system control is down. Spending hours converting straight boys.
This has to stop. What freezes in this winter is not the road.
To a full stop. He's staying out. Cannot register his interest.
For a week, it seems. Beneath the sheets. Struggling with the
heat in this room. Generation. Dry air. Below degrees.
The system
that fuses us recoils.
