Sonnet to Tinder
Oh, failing app of Aphrodite’s curse.
Its name will tease with hopes and dreams of fire,
but leave me only in smoke and tears.
Alone in dark and cold at night again.
A swipe to right results in no response,
again, I stare at comment screen so bare.
My cycloptic picture reveals me now;
I stand too fat, too bald, too old, too dull.
I try to will my love into the world.
I carve her face in stone and text the Gods,
I wear a bra upon my brow and chant,
in plans of swiping her into my life.
I kiss the screen and wish for her warm lips,
but taste of only the cold, hard screen.
Paul Kurzeja is obtaining his MA in Creative Writing at UNC Charlotte. He is a winner of the 2014 Elizabeth Simpson Smith Short Story Award and was a finalist for the 2015 Doris Betts Fiction Prize.