Typo
On Sunday
thinking about you and your website
I realise if you type the word reward
in predictive text, it first offers you sex.
In bed on Monday I hate computers.
I am screen saver sick,
the creases in my neck code the sheets,
the sound track I like, circuits me out.
By Wednesday I am winking morse in sleep.
I don't drink tea
my pens don't leak
I don't wear lipstick
I don't make mistakes.
Thursday at work and I remember
you turning me to face the wall when I am in the lift.
I email you to say
I think it's because your ex girlfriend told you she liked it
but accidentally type,
I think it's because I like you.
