i extract poetry from your facebook chats
and tenderness from your skype calls
this: the compromise of a romantic heart
in the face of modern ephemera
since i cannot scale your balcony
like i memorize your wall
(o sweet o lovely wall
thanks courteous wall)
nor can i woo you or ****** you
without google as my cyrano
i worry for the endurance
of a love without tree-carved initials
and sigh over perceived corruption
caused by emoticons over emotion
though i’m sure if mr wilde could text
or byron could bbm
they’d not forego their lovers’ notice
for the sake of pure romance
they’d embrace any fleeting mention
with disregard for rose colored glasses
not moon over the glare of history’s glance
they’d kiss them with x’s
and serenade them with youtube
and covet any moment not spent
with them on their mind
so my conflict is resolved
and my star-crossed thoughts soothed
when they caution most ominously
that anything on the internet
can never truly disappear.