we met online in a chat room.
the yellow raincoat behind you
kept you warm as you fingered
the keys of your computer.
watching the news coverage
of some fool climbing up a
tall building. with your pack
of smokes, you’d hop out
the window to the fire escape.
but when it all went wrong,
you started talking about god
and binary code. life was but
a number. an ever changing
number. you popped bottles
of champagne, rattling off
your theories about the female
species. I dressed in black —
smelling like Dior. but, I
wasn’t ready for a funeral.
Courtenay's Corner 