“Yeah, I know who she is
but we’ve never talked”
and you probably never will
because we have become creatures who do not talk.
instead we stalk
through stills of chosen moments
(the ugly ones have slipped through the cracks)
and we can only imagine
the intimate ways each other move;
the turn of a head,
tucking hair behind ears with two delicate fingers.
fingers trace the face of a friend
through a translucent screen and claw
out any flaw they can find-
but can’t we see we are all flawed?
flawed victims of this never-ending social experiment
that in de facto has stunted our socialization.
in your hand,
a girl throws her head back laughing,
but her gaze does not land on the cause of her happiness,
instead it goes right passed the lens, through the glass,
and into a world we act like we know so well
when really we know