Romance is dead.  
It's throat laid open,
love cascading down.

Murdered by progress,  
by the reduced
synaptic
span
on
constant
scroll,  
lips smacking for the next
hit of instant
gratification.

Breaking into a cold sweat
at the thought of  waiting
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
or patient endurance, and the  
reward of long fought effort.  
IRL.  

The beautiful cat and mouse of our ancestry;  
that wove such wonderful tales  
into the bark of our trees,  
replaced by all the clever wit  
and subtle nuance of  
our enlightened future.  

swipe right  
“send nudes”  
“DTF”