romance is dead

my hand in
the empty
mail box,
is cold and
feels the
harsh wind
kissed metal,
and gropes
around at
nothing. no
letters. but
i'm not
surprised.
no one writes
anymore,
they log
on, they log
off. we
fall in love
with abbreviated
strokes of
words and letters
on our phones.
we end it that
way too. no
tears on each
other's shoulders,
no scenes to
be had. no
notes of
affection are
in the mail
these days
with a smudge
of a kiss,
and a dab
of perfume.
or a lock
of hair folded
within. romance
is dead
i tell you and
maybe it's
better that way.