There are many people here
packed within this room.
I hear the chatter in black static,
a silent “how are you?”
The room is buzzing with the quiet,
no words come from lips.
Instead I hear the metronome
of glass against finger tips.
A conversation between mind and metal
where true connections dare not lie.
Oh! How rude I must be
to look a friend in the eye.
I feel better when I talk to you
without our pockets buzzing.
Tweets come only from the birds
and likes do not replace loving.
I feel better when you and I face body to soul.
Metal may break and screens may crack but our connection shall never grow old.