Sexting On A Week Night | A Poem

 

I turn over 

tangled in the cold sheets at midnight. 

Sweating like a minuscule apparition lodged somewhere between existential dread and contentment

Neither yet to be satisfied

I want you with me 

But a stranger to each other is all we'll ever be. 

It's the introvert hookup

Empty midweek one night stand

You said words were magical 

And I smiled because I did not care. 

This is nothing but temporary metamorphosis 

I still wouldn't adjust the clock on the wall even with dictated time changes. 

Another text from you flashes on the screen

And I can't help but wonder if maybe you now feel less depraved than I

Because the dopamine definitely did nothing for me. 

Now I'm just tired, depressed and still horny

And I really don't feel like replying anymore, because-

Texting is a psychological chore of seeing how far you can push any one boundary 

And you know as well as I do

That no one would ever dream of actually saying to someone's face:

“Send nudes” 

Or:

“Do you like to be degraded?”

And: 

“I'm actually married but they don't have to know.”

I wonder if you will look back on this shared memory with fondness 

Because I know I won't. 

I'll disappear like a ghost from your head,

Taking nothing with me but your lifeless texts hovering aimlessly in the cloud where they lodged themselves permanently in my phone. 

Don't worry, I won't save your pictures 

I am already repulsed. 

And now I'm thinking I just need sleep.

Do yourself a favor and forget about me

Just as I'll try to forget about you come the morning.