Poem 20141118

These dark pixels
Resemble
Splotches of ink
Themselves poor substitutes for thick, heart-heated blood
These pixels
Dance down the screen
These blackened bits of light
Whisper into your ear
With a hand pressed warm against your shoulder blade
The fingers light upon the rise in your neck
With a tickling breath on your cheek
And a meaning that you can feel
Crawling inside you
Though you can’t make out a single
Word