...she's at her limit too, you know

Scanlines on TVs used to pose a technical challenge

Editors would create imperfect images

Then corrected by the technical limitations of a TV

I was out of sync

My AV was ajar

Untightened

She was perfect

She ensconced the frame

All the circuitry was hers

I occupied the space between the lines

Incessantly imperfect

Obfuscated

Not her

The world converged in front of me

Skyscrapers spiralled into the centre of my vision

Time felt slow

I felt uncorrected

The CRTs could not process my descent

She pushed me

From the other side of a mirror

“I see promise in a world without you”

Was the last phrase her soft lips 

Unforthcomingly muttered

If she couldn’t acquiesce

If I couldn’t be her

If I couldn’t be defined

Then I’ll make myself readable

Sequestered from my material self

Leaving my perennial fervour

Burnt into the screen

A signature on the pavement