your tumblr is your blog
an oral history
tatted on the internet so I know it's real
your pinterest style is childlike sexuality.
Althea someday will look here
to make a scrapbook.
it will cost tens of thousands to purchase
the vision you have wrought
your instagram is the pipes and
filters of your delicate web presence
your twitter is a black girl's twitter
with chocolate skin and dark green eyes
your eyes don't seem to fit
framed in the web of your brow
your neck is a long cathode ray tube
- or ethernet connection.
you are a vintage girl
obsessed with antiques
your vine is still high-concept, early stage
a portent of the internet-to-come
your tinder is deactivated
in accordance with the rules of Islam.
your facebook is gnarled and
chewed up. yesterday's toy, nothing
remains here but a timeline of
alluring photos to show outsiders
your snapchat is the highest art.
I'm fond of seeing you rest on your pillow
before the snap diffuses.
an intimacy outdone only by
exploring your back
with my fingers in real life
on the very same snapchat pillow,
or imagining your singing voice
on the old-fashioned telephone
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