Love Poem -1: Chicago (CST) to Bangalore (GMT +5:30)

Then love was a phone ding’s dopamine thimble

instead of revolution, our green and singing world.

My day your night. Your day

my husking, skin to bark to sap rot.

No pixels, no disembodied voice teched towards me

reassembled you here.

Both feet missing. Inner ears gone.

Top of your head, merely suspect.

Each eye’s prism, flattened.

The geometry of your chest, lost math.

The godweld between us taffied,

split back to word and light.

Its reconfigured data—

your slick hologram—

my dearest friend who refused

to touch me.