The World irregularly turns on it axis, ice caps melts by their own accord. Against this the interaction of the sexes lessens. Young couples in cafes, the backs of their laptops touching one another, hyping themselves on caffeine kneecaps no longer poised in minimal but meaningful contact.
Young ladies filling the vacuous business space, applying make up on bus or train. the private no longer exists. Sweet mysteries of womanhood, ply a thick veneer of rouge then cross legs interlock unto their mobiles for their virtual makeover.
No glistening eyes, contact has gone. No momentary walks on mists of fancy, holding onto the old fashioned glimmer of realisation, she may be the one for you.
Cursory, oblivious! loosening concourse the World is really nigh.
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Imagination fires the soul, resolution the longing.
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