Tactile Revulsion

In this our dystopian fright mode
my fingers displaces her atmosphere
She convulses and ferries the real to Charon
and preens for my avatar
I prep a social myth and hack in deep
She tags my wall and we hook up
I am king for the stretch of an IM
I am muted on the end of the last packet
He pimps for her avatar
They drag me to the edge of my acquaintances
I supply the red for an artificial bloodline
that haunts me even after a million disconnects
Here we strip naked in the big iron
but we won't touch the real
Here we blow peace and utopia
but the war has bolted your bedroom
Sometimes I catch her twitching in the market
she spills wide with revulsion
I try not to unplug when reality is imminent
I stitch my fingers to the keys and fake it