Your Avacado Tones
If asked..but no one ever will
What I miss most
I am torn
Is it the champagne of your skin? The silken purity
Or your Love in its rawest most vulnerable desperate clinging clutching beauty
Or is it the avacadoness of your voice?
Your rolling...Har
you spoke my name...over and over
But perhaps it is your avid wandering searching ever learning mind? Did you say HTML...or was it Adobe...or a theoretical mathematical three dimensional formulation of angles and curves...bacon strips or drops theory
Did I love you?
Dropped to knees
Fallen to floor
Pulled over as not to hurt others with my car
You ask for an answer that the entire universe knows all too too well
But somehow...you missed the memo
No one sends memos anymore
Its all group text
and conference calls..and video chattings
Will there be remnant markings in the geologic strata that show the remnants of cell phones and laptops
like Dinasuar bones today...will they say ...they lived in the
Facebookian era...or the twiterian...or instagramian...or the lostmindian
Just saying...we have all gone completely mad and we are soon to be dust from dust...bone from bone
and fast worthy of deep reflective and historical folly
study
Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2019
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