My hand grasps for it in habitual obeisance
Perhaps in my pocket with fingers stretched
Or clasped just over my lap but under a table
Entertaining a world of far more
Desire than this moment here.
This is my phone prayer and yours
To this most sacred of our shiny objects
The slender Goddess of Silicon.
Blessed are the notifications it blings
Blessed are the answers to misplaced trivia
Blessed are the loops of memes
Blessed are the documenting of injustices
Blessed are the swipes that bring sex
Blessed are the serialized streams.
For without this
What would our hands produce or our senses consumes.
Cursed are the likability longings
Cursed are the misinformed headlines
Cursed are the unpaid makers
Cursed are the trolls of idiocy
Cursed are the relationships of responsibility
Cursed are the thick tomes.
For with this
How our minds have drifted and our attention diminished.
The phone has given and the phone has taken.
It has created as it has destroyed.
Just know that I long to hold in my hands
Another’s hand almost nearly
As much as my phone in my hand.
…Like this so I know you are near.
