when she tucks herself in-
under the fabric of her duvet
she forgets about her
unwritten essays-
as she is immersed in the
blue light of her phone-
she allows the pixels of
his face to seep into her own-
absorb in to her brain
until there is no room for
anything else-
and the clock races past two and
she lets it
she knows its only Monday
purple shadows cloud the skin under
her tired eyes but she can't stop
talking talking talking
the adrenaline of a notification
is too much -
the idea of sleep is put to rest-
at least not while he's awake-
now he's tired of her
he wants space
she's obsessing
he dissolves himself into the internet
away from her digital touch
to be disconnected

call ended.