Text is
klunky.
It's not smooth like your
lover's touch.
It's not soft like a
gentle whisper.
It doesn't
breathe heavy
or in short
gaspy measures.
Text does not wave its hands at you.
Or note your cocked eyebrow.
Text doesn't know when to pause and let you catch up.
It doesn't know how to respond to your blank stares.
Text can't tell when
a casual touch will bring a point home
or when to step back
and offer a visible recognition
of someone's personal space.
But still, when it's good -
Text does touch.
It is warm, or cold, or hot.
It is prickly or sharp or smooth.
It can wrap itself around you
like your favourite blanket.
Text isn't all bad,
but given the choice,
I'd rather feel you breathing
while we exchange thoughts.