nexted me and only by
fate or luck or glitch
came back
and smiled at me again.

In this live-stream roulette,
names and locations and time
slink away, seductive in the dark,
and we could lure them back
if we would only speak:
but both of us are mutes,
and everyone looks the same on Earth.

Voice is too personal
for these distance intimacies,
but I'm reluctant to let it go.

She said, it's time to go.
Pull the plug.
Rip the bandaid off.
Euthanize the digital dream of knowing me
and drop that F9 guillotine.
Stranger: But I can't drop everything.
Okay.
We can just leave this camera going.