You stalked my tweets
140 characters a time
flirting in absentia
Twitter became a canvas
each update
a stroke of me
Our graffiti,
this Barstow
epistolary affair
No wonder art is dead
when the signifier
sustains,
without needing a sign
Tonight the signals dying
Could we be content
if you knock back your tumblr
lay across my word press
graze really simple fornication
and after, unsubscribe?
Leave your response!