What even is the point of nostalgia
I only believe in missing the plastic and
The smooth safe angles of tools
That existed for your hands and
Your hands only.
But to feel for
rocks and stones
For a splash of dolomite
Vomiting colour,
hiding the puny creatures that live
Amongst us, small and modest
And yet is that an electric blue
Petal that I spot?
To feel for what stood between us
And the sea,
And my failed Robocop eyes,
I mean
No wonder I used to spend whole days on YouPorn.com
