Tangible

digital isn't tangible
can't run my fingers across the edges
can't smell the new plastic,
the ink on pages.
once it's gone, it's gone
collecting files never collecting dust
there's something sterile about loading
i can see it but something's missing:
the trace, the lineage
from store to home
to daughter's backpocket,
up the stairs, sneak a listen,
put back in daddy's room.
the synthetic lacks the sensual
too crisp, too tight
too perfect, unlike the asymmetrical
crease in workpants
unlike the temperature of grandma's soup.
desire is flawed, smudges in the grooves,
crackled, not stiff, like a quirky boyfriend,
a bent flower, a snort with a laugh.
digital isn't tangible
it's sneaky, invisible, limited.