After the Cyber Date

Erotic prayers are typed like tattoos on her virtual skin. She clutches at this man; prints his likeness over her tongue. His words are as close as a bedtime story told to her flesh. An ethereal fruit grows ripe, nearly tactile, hung from dendrites where desires open. They meet at the verge of a vision, still conversing to distant screens. Motel doors slam. Daylight bustles through echoing corridors. From each side of twin lamps, they lay tongue-tied. Tangled sheets their only eloquence. Later, they flew apart, as bats will when caught by a glaring sun.