Synthetic

She always chose

Cotton over polyester

Not because

Of the style or cut

Of the garment

Only that it felt good

Against her skin.

He only ran

The old, P.O.S. car

When it was too cold

To walk downtown

Preferring the faint crunch

Of autumn leaves

Left unswept from November.

Such was the life they made

Between the light and buzzing

Of the holographic world

Where dog eats dog

Over the course of a busy work week,

Singing a song no one else could hear -

Under their breath

Vibrating deep in the chest.