TWO SECOND BLACKOUT

I wish there are walls
around this digital dream
of space we met in.
That way, I'd know
where to take my fool's stand,
and wait for you to come.
Instead of floating
in this random space
of pixelated colors,
while my fingers tense
at the keyboard,
re-reading your year-old
digital post-it notes
Like I do now.

You did not even have a face,
when we first met.
Just a name. Japanese,
I thought.
And a tell-tale sign of plastic glasses
in your electronic grins -
cryptic taglines to remind me that I am
your fool.

And as I re-read
your old digital notes -
the one where you told me
of your plastic glasses
breaking at the temple,
along with more cryptic taglines
for my foolishness,
my fingers seem to jump,
some tactile response
in this digital dream.

But even though I knew
such thoughts to be absurd -
digital dreams have no touch,
after all,
I knew it felt like
some kind of electric spark
between flesh and plastic,
instantaneous.

And in that instant,
it seemed like the whole dream
slipped away in that spark.
Those cryptic taglines again,
I thought.

I must have stopped waiting.
But I don't really remember now.
That spark
in your electronic grins
seem to have crashed
my memories too.

Like a two second blackout does.