Cybersex

Tonight, in a moon-soaked bedroom,
on sheets of cotton,
under heaps of blankets,
I take my online lover
to my four-poster bed.
Every time his messages enter
my in-box, I reply the ecstasy,
shiver through electronic foreplay,
of vowels and consonants,
periods and question marks,
love in 12-point Arial font,
with SEX in the subject line.

I let his words glide in and out of me,
and as he writes, "I miss you,"
I build toward orgasm, as--
letter
after
letter--
his love explodes
on my LCD screen.

Finally, we climax
in a torrent of key strokes
as, somehow, in the ether,
we happen to each press SEND
at the exact same moment,
hotmailing something as close to love
as two online lovers can get.