A Binary History

(or the last time i really thought about him.)

Next time that we meet
Your name will have the prefix Dr.
I can’t remember if your hands were
Callused or if your lips were cracked
Or why I bled over the lines you whispered
But next time we meet, I know
That our clothes will stay on, there will be no
3am booty calls or long-winded love letters
For you to hoard and add on
To your collection of my misery.

The past, it seems, is a complex series of
Binary code making up our genetic meme
And if I was verbose in oh ones and dashes
It would blink out I miss you, I still need you,
I never stopped loving you but
Morse code makes for poor communication
Smoke messages are flickering candles
Letters sealed in wax. In museums.
Sun-dried husk, wind-blown dust,
A poet’s tragedy, an illiterate’s story.

01001110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100101 01110100 00001101 00001010 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01101001 01101011 01110101
Because, Darling, Time.

The open ended question I keep evading.
Zeros and ones. Xs and Os and would/coulds.
2011 is 5 years too far.


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