Nights on OKStupid*, struggling to breathe
in the air of lost romance
and null sexuality;
and days of professionalism,
and post-human specialities:
open a third eye on my computer forehead;
my shakras are connected to your IP address,
and my kundilini is extended into the ethernet.

Everywhere is a flirt:
the tightest blouse, tallest heels,
and shortest skirt;
And part of my martyr's soul is gracious
for the torture that they dole
to my base mind; while,
at the same time,
they nail me to two poles,
hands and feet,
and hoisted aloft
I am crucified
between the animal in me
and the world of our strange societies.

Pressing the keys of a keyboard
I feel the liquid thoughts move forward.
Letter by letter, word by line
these words aren't just mine:
they are yours and others,
sisters and brothers,
who all feel the same
confusion at this new game
of meeting friends
and finding a lover.

Old religions have lost their way
in this age of new technology
and so have simple methods
of introduction and matrimony.
It's enough to smother
the spirit of those traditionalists
unable to adapt
and see that
lightening bolts of Zeus
and Hera's careful hand
extend at our command
through the words drawn in the sand
of programs we use;
that Odin's eye was never so ceaseless in its sight;
that every day and every night Ra and Osiris
were no less vigilant to offer
their service
as your computer
now
will allow you to pray
and someone
somewhere
will listen
and maybe – just maybe -
they will answer someday.

You may be my god,
and I may be your worshipper;
it doesn't make me worse
and it doesn't make you superior;
it only means that we both need
one for the other to be complete,
and that our roles may change
as we grow and age;
and our cosmic love
may come from within or from above;
but if we are lucky we will live
and be happy with one another
and say, “We are a family”;
wife and husband,
father and mother.

Or some combination thereof.
Amen.

*OKCupid