An Ode to Tinder

Each night, we enter the portal
and we haunt each other
with possibility.

A spread of still photos,
stitched together in our brains
to craft a the construct of
who we might be – and we
text like we know we
are both real humans
with real hearts, real minds
volley back and forth, until
one of us falls asleep.

And the trail goes cold.

The idea of you as a “maybe”
snuffed out by a sea of
new threads, sparking with

And each night, a different
ghost of a man holds me,
I knit together the idea of him
his warmth, his smell, his touch

But when I wake up, he’s gone.

Percy Street Project | Philadelphia

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