I don’t have the skills
or the grace to do this,
to know what to do
to keep you
connected despite our distance.

Letters and phones
seem insufficient
to love you and
I’m not really part
Of this pictionary future.

No one taught me
how to make anything
long term.

Really, I could make
this work if I had
something similar to
the paper pharmacists give out.

As it is, for what it is,
I’ve got these fingers
typing on my tiny box,
smaller than my own heart,
so small I wonder if you see it.