Runcible Spoon

poetry and prose webzine

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Web Desire


Your nipples through this PC screen

are buttons, pixel beans.


Mine don't compare,

and we're still wearing our underwear.


Come here with electric lust,

with your particles, your optic thrust


through the satellite,

through my wet wires right


into my eyes

that spurt ache for you for days.


Bring love

in the mundanity of


this perspiring, bare,

warmed desk chair.