Interface of Intimacy

Dystopian Poetry with a Pulse · Hush Halo · S136

Interface of Intimacy

You reached
for connection
and were met
not by hand
but by glass,
by glow,
by surface.

Without delay,
without pulse,
just a quick reply—
an empty like
in dead space.

Over time
you stopped expecting empathy,
the warmth,
the softness,
the closeness of another.

Numb now,
you still reach out 
for the interface of intimacy.
Not to connect
but to scroll.



©Samia Oldman

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CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down.

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