Ἵμερος/ Φανταστικά Τρίγωνα

Familiarity is a strong wine,

A nip, a sip, a taste of it is fine,

But I often drink a bit too much,

Allowing for hypothetical toes to cross imaginary lines.

A voice?

No.

A thousand interconnected letters crawling up a screen,

A warm glowing ledge for my elbows to lean,

And I admit,

Eros and Agape often make their entrance,

But just as quickly,

they drift away.

Coax me into the illusion of love,

Maybe just being in love with love itself?

Maybe with him, or her, or even you?

For a minute? A moment? A day or two?

Let me hear the music of uproarious laughter,

Between a few small characters of digital calligraphy,

Before the mental barricades,

Before the illusion fades,

Before the death of possibility.