internet friend

you’re a toronto kid, born from kensington,
and bathurst station. five feet seven inches
of bass guitar and instant noodles, with an Instagram
filled with pictures of coffee and stickers and coffee

i hear your voice through a tube, through
a speaker, layers of skype and bell mobility between us,
tell me about your tattoo and the girls you love
while i freeze in my apartment seven hours away

when i see you, my fingers run through your hair
pulling out the knots, no wifi connection
can simulate that softness, like a sheep,
in a gritty subway near kensington market

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