the life he lives
is not his own
save
in digital moments
seen only as
hobby
pastime
recreation
divertissement
by the masses who
own, but do not
know, his
soul
Love
for his captors
does not diminish
the weight of their
chains, nor blunt
the barbs that
collar
capture
leash
and control
words that
bear, but do not
speak, his
heart
Yet
late at night,
in the pixelated
hours just before
dawn, they
slip
those words,
‘tween splintered
cracks
of moonlight, to
shudder
tremble
quake
and flame
at her feet
Until
bending, she cradles the
blistered offering in her
cool
white palms, and
watches the words,
the igneous words,
untroubled
unbound
under
stood,
scotch and score his
immutable
promise
into her skin
©s rogers 23 april 2010
