So Technosexual </3

Electrical impulses transmit,
An abstract idea slowly forms,
As emotions process it,
Slowly it takes upon a more concrete form,
And words are assigned to it,
Substitutions and reductions,
Expansions and revisions,
The idea becomes more real,
Neurons fire madly,
Swimming in a current of webbed nerve endings,
Synapses ignite, bridging gaps between,
Signal traveling through the spine,
Down a neural network maze,
A well travelled sinuous road,
Arriving at their destination,
Fingertips acting upon a pen,
Manipulating black encapsulated ink,
Air forcing it down towards rolling ball,
Leaving a trail as it acts upon paper,
Elegant script detailing words,
Then just as quickly,
Pen violates the last line,
Striking out a nascent phrase,
Before continuing on to rephrase,
Then striking through again,
Phrase begets strike begets phrase,
A vicious cycle of writer’s block,
My words could never do you justice,
My words could never touch the beauty that is you,
Could never capture your essence,
Words could never accurately describe those blissful moments,
Could never describe the feeling of your arm touching mine,
Could never describe the laughter we both let out in those intimate moments of mirth,
Your voice too beautiful to trap and reduce to words,
Describing the sweet amorous tone of your voice on the phone,
Or share the euphoric rush of hope felt in those moments,
No, my words pale in comparison to the things I long to express,
My diction, allusion, and metaphors could never stand up to your poetic expressions,
My words will never suffice to win you over like I hoped that they would,
Will never move or sway others the way I desire,
Will never leave the lasting impression of me I wish as my legacy,
Will never fully represent the broad spectrum of my emotions,
But I can do naught more than attempt ceaselessly in my labors,
With my pen I paint an imperfect portrait of a vision so divine,
I create a reality that fails to mirror your designs,
But I must continue to write the next line.

It is so easy to lie,
I could be anyone,
I could be rich,
You could be my wish,
But as I type this alone,
In this darkened, solitary room,
I feel as if I am typing to another,
In a similarly dark room alone on the other end,
We can reveal a part of our personalities,
Lay our souls bare in this complicit anonymity,
There are all manners of truth,
There is the truth we reveal,
And there is the truth we choose not to reveal,
When we are online the two reverse roles,
Revealing the truth normally kept obscured,
And we obscure the truth others can normally see,
We manipulate this Johari Window to our advantage,
Removing and rearranging the panes,
But in spite of this knowledge,
I full heartedly believe.

Words are formulated in the mind,
thoughts pieced together,
to convey meaning,
our throats create noises,
that pieced together become the very words we meant to say,
and convey all meaning, though imperfectly,
some of the meaning lost,
like the energy of the vibrations of the soundwaves,
much like a ripple continues towards infinity,
so are the sounds of words we meant to say,
vibrating unceasingly, though more quietly,
absorbed by the walls, the furniture, and all ears,
all becoming part of the earth, echoing throughout the cosmos,
the sounds of the words we meant to say are partly absorbed by the mouthpiece,
and through electromagnets are converted into electrical signals,
which become the airwaves which in turn become electrical signals and then airwaves once more,
before they reach your phone and are once more converted into the electrical impulses,
the impulses that cause the magnet in your earpiece to vibrate,
and spread throughout your surroundings, in it’s natural form,
and the sound becomes part of your bedroom, and enters your eardrums,
translated into English, and then translated into human,
so that your heart may listen to what your brain hears,
and guard those thoughts, so that they may never be lost.