With An Errant Smile

She'd kissed me with an errant smile
with blank look scanned her mobile
red nails tapped like a woodpecker
angrily dictated like a sculptor
another days empty, quotations...
no-nesting materials here; just ruins...
No soft shapes here; just depletion...
as she presses sent, 'I'm on vacation
I can't compete' with this someone...
in telecommunication...?

poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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