This silent limbo, this is what I hate
I thumb it, glance, then thumb and look away
It's forty seven minutes, forty eight
There is no buzz of what you've left to say

Resist the urge to open up and check
My thoughts spin round in circles till they're curled
How powerless I feel with the tech
Connecting me but loosely to the world

I sometimes wonder if it might be sick
To navigate each other through the glass
But everyone's a consort of the brick
Electric tendons thread the biomass

My eyes prick up, my ears tense to the tone
My fingers fumble to unlock the phone