There is no mystery
in the information age.
just knowledge of the unwanted
on every pristine web page.
everything you want is at your fingertips
except her lips.
except your heart’s desire.
except her breath beside you,

you’re in love’s eclipse.

you’re in hells abyss,
and you wish she’d have the balls to miss you
the feet to run and kiss you
the eyes to see your glowing soul,
which matches hers so blissful.

i go to sleep thinking of the lonely lyric
that there is no info on my spirit.