The Internet is
The most fluid of mediums
Forgiving and
Forgetful
Like our collective
Memory itself
How quickly it jumps
Off topic as my sight
Alights on the lady
Sitting next to me
While I’m sipping
Coffee here in the Pret
On West 29th
And how she reminds me
Of myself this dour matron
Of the hour as she
Eagerly brushes her cheeks
With rouge and puckers her lips
To meet an upcoming
Stick of gloss
Always so
hopeful
For the scent of some
Life changing romance
Standing in the wings it seems
Even though we both ought to know
Much better than that by now
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