'the edge of my desk'

we'd flirted via msg
text
comments
and we'd laughed
and wondered
and she wanted
a call
and late and
drunk
I called
feeling the weight
of voices
without the preferred
precision
of the written

I panicked

my insecure
wrinkles
made me laugh
and stutter
and withdraw

I wish I could say

trust the page
the screen
the column 
and I would

if

I wasn't such
a careful curator
of binary things

if only

the log-in
was all of me