Desktop Lover


He lives on my desktop, flirts 
between emails and deleted spam.

The perfect lover, he never complains 
or eyes other women, remains as dashing 
today as yesterday and the mounting 
days before that one.

The dead follow their own path,
leave half-used tubes of toothpaste 
or shirts fresh with their scent
for us to cling to in unwanted vigil.

Memories piggyback his grin
and I touch my computer screen
as he fades, hope he might 
yet grasp my hand, allow me 
to pull him back from that 
runaway train of time.



Pris Campbell
(c)2012

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