Telecommunication

Spasms, into you, the not-all
zero fitted to one
nothing you can see, you-branch
of spidered out hypertext
mothering yourself:

silicon chips, set out to eat
your way outside
microvoid, its syntax
dithering off, passes through,
scatters; you redress
my mistress’ eyes in
liquidcrystal thinness.

                   Remains slouch,
half-chewed hemoglobin,
fiber-optic, you swallow
                 this wetness
and I wait alongside.
Bloodblack, your tongue,
the zero-fathoming one,
it’s laying into my lip.