A poem Inspired by Internet Dating
Technicolor Telephone
I.
I was in love with you before I met you,
After our first day together on the phone.
Sharing fantasies if not fluids,
Matchmaker matchmaker I found my match.
I googled belle-mere that night.
It sounded so right.
The matchmaker made us I had no retort.
I want you so badly from right brain to cunt.
Your voice on the phone
Like a guitar string tuned just to me
Twist of steel that I can touch
Call it love, call it lust,
I’m sweet for you like angel dust
Come this weekend, as you are
We’ll consummate this flame between us.
Get as kinky as you want to. I’ll go there.
There are places I would go
With you but no one else.
Take me to New York
Let’s fuck in your apartment
Until the end of time.
II.
It’s a fantasy, to be swept off like that
But my second act has turned stale and dull
No friends, no lovers, no performance art troupe.
A gorgeous house all my own, but no love.
I want to burn with love.
I want to burn with you.
Take me in your arms,
Finally, October fifth.
We’ll see where this goes.
I’ll be on my toes.
They’ll curl with ecstasy
We’ll see.
III.
A thing about you,
When we’re on the phone.
I believe every word
I move with your drum
I dance with each dream
As if they were reality.
Your voice on the phone
Like a guitar string tuned just to me
Twist of steel that I can touch
Once time has passed between those calls
I wait and wonder.
Get stood up.
Hope and pray
Do high magic.
Make witch bottles
Burn bay leaves.
To make what you speak of true.
But will it be?
IV.
“Bicoastal romance is so Victorian, lots of yearning correspondence.”
– me, in a text, to you.
I’m as lonely as a honeybee.
Without a hive.
Andrea Lambert Fritz 