Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereThe poetry of people
crashing into one another,
of language
sliding across the surface of chemistry,
the humane 'trap and release' of temporary friction,
the audible sound of connections being made
like the latch of a door
or the bolt action of a .45,
the unexpected clickity-clack when it works,
when the heart skips a beat
then doubles its time to catch up
to the girl on the bicycle,
the combustion of first flame
or the hiss of rain on a dying fire...
It's all different now,
as language is detached from flesh
by the cool blue disconnect of the world wide web.
The crackle of current just before the first storm,
the desperate attempt to speak
and then unspeak
the interior of longing,
the rush of want,
the heat of fear,
the necessity of contact
as skin is re-introduced to the old newness of skin,
replaced by a spongy dance
across a plastic alphabet of squares.
No history lesson written in flesh,
no greedy hungry mouth,
no pulling pressing hands,
no journey across the familiar landscape of bodies
sticky with forgiveness.
Only hollow palms
cupping the space
between syllables,
measuring the distance between
(please come) back
and (there's no place like) home.
The poetry of people
crashing into one another,
sliding across the surface of chemistry,
closing the distance between bodies,
is lost in the age of computers
because there's no weight
to words spoken
by apathetic fingers
and delivered in Times New Roman
to deaf eyes.