Your love, I have to imagine it as it’s not yet quite possible to see it on your cinnamony visage.
Your face and the life to it consists of a sum of pictures I keep safe for when I want to smile.
Your sadness, I notice it on occasion when you show it, but still won’t make up for being all too far.
Your distance is real now as ever before, though I see you closer, maybe because time also speaks.
Your words, well those I will not share nor define since I believe they are meant for me only.
Your only flaw is to have so few, and those you touched were mostly mine but you excused them.
Your mercy is alike most women’s and would sure be charming to most men, most like am I.
Your eyes had me reticent and mine did the same to you, however our reasons were at odds.
You’re odd and I mad. How else to explain my choosing a hologram over something live?