She leans into
his receptive body,
toggle set to INTEREST,
perhaps INTENT.

Other messages posted too,
aimed at all comers
male and female:
This is mine.
This is where I choose to be.

The boy stood still and smiled,
all warm inside.
He’d not ever known this.

And inside his eager brain,
a yellow neon light:
Proceed, but with caution.
Protect your heart.
Always.
Protect your heart.

Not friends. Not really.
Acquaintances with a common purpose.
Friendly enough but only to a point.
Don’t get too close.
That’s where the little black gadgets come in.
Sanctuaries.
Diversions.
Unflattering devices, however useful they may be.
However fun.

We no longer talk to one another.
We turn to our toys instead.
The divide deepens.

We’re losing ourselves, allowing it to happen.
The emperor has no clothes
yet we’re glued to five inch plates of aluminosilicate glass,
focused on nothing, really.

We’re trading our humanity
for screen time,
marching ourselves toward human obsolescence.

Here — take our souls too while you’re at it.
 

private places reside in the heart
— and in the soul

aren’t those the same thing
— she asked

hearts can be broken
— he told her

the soul lives on forever
— in the hearts of all that we cherish

A good shellacking,
That’s what she needs.

Needs and wants,
my momma always said.

Needs and wants.

I want.
What?

What’s that I crave?
What will content me?

The sun shines.
Pieces fall into place.

The world – my world – runs in an orderly fashion.
And I’m good.

It doesn’t
and I’m not.