She’s not a puzzle box I strive to access at odd moments
But sometimes she operates within that paradigm
I love her differently than that
Most days, I send her something, 9 days out of 10
It comes for free, no postage due
If not buried beneath mounds of confusing seaweed
She absolutely can use it, like tonic
Sometimes she speaks at me, sometimes not so
Sometimes it is imagined, or actual but undetected
Sometimes just one beep is consciously transmitted
Like two submarines gauging their potential hostility
Too easy to preserve ambiguity with poetic innuendo

Myself, I kind of like it, her infection in my organs
Not some tragic misfortune needing gradual remediation
I like the way it tints my seeing, corrupts my tasting
It’s a gifted richness I’d sooner not do without
And I’ll not have to, in truth, since such things do not pass
Intimacies of all flavors can never fade away
Only your awarenesses of them can dim with minus effort
Yes, I carry an unreasonable patience, perverse sadly, to some
True, deadlines and milestones and thresholds are in effect
And for sure, time has its moment, and hearts have their now
But I love her differently than that
Though our circumstances are implausible, we have eternity

_______RS

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