THE WEAVE:

The Sun rolls down his window,

where Saturn stands on the sidewalk.

In the Sun set, Sunny slips

Saturn, a piece of paper…

And says,
"This is my number.
My phone is shitty
at texting.  Think of it
like a one Way street.
You can tell me
whatever you want there,
but never expect
more than a couple brief
sentences from me.
It is a glorified hot-spot,
basically.  And I can't open
any links you send me.
Links and media,
are computer things.
Send those to my e-mail."

"But doesn't it make you 
feel slow, and isolated?"
Saturn asks.

"Yes, and no.  I like
feeling slow.  And everyone
I want to reach me,
knows how to do it.
Mostly they call me,
and I feel as if
I have a very special
little walkie-talkie.
We do not expect each-other.
Deadlines, are for e-mails.
We just have our little
Magickal conversations
in sprinklings of beLoved
minutes, when we find ourSelves
in unison."