My postmodern friend

You’re always there but never quite here.
Letters flow through your veins
as you breath rhetoric;
your heart an amalgam of emojis

I sit… waiting… watching…
… anticipating the response…
My solitude satiated with interaction,
I’m no longer sure if I am ever alone.

And I wonder…
what makes you different from the other skeletons of syntax
what separates you from the screen at which I stare
in a parallel reality, what significance can conversation ever bear

Perhaps all either of us desire is words to fill the silence.