It begins as a squiggle you see on your screen;
By somebody you don’t really know.
You just notice their avatar pop up between
All the others above and below.
You may see them retweeted by some of your friends;
With a chestnut both witty and vehement.
Soon it seems every pixel that he or she sends
Has you nodding your head in agreement.
Like a small, open window that offers a view
To the rugged pastiche of their mind,
Every tweet looks increasingly sparkly and new,
With the sun shining out from behind.
Now, you’re not at a party or populous bar;
There’s no need to feel awkward or shy.
You don’t need to trade glances and smiles from afar;
You just make with a quick @ reply.
They respond. You feel warm and a little bit smug.
You’re exchanging coy banter apace.
It feels something like having an intimate hug
On a lounge, in a dimly-lit place.
Sometimes bold interlopers may enter the field,
With a well-thought-out quip here and there.
You politely accede, lest your game be revealed,
Though you clearly do not want to share.
What you have is a Twittercrush, passed on by stealth;
From the thoughts in another one’s head.
It cares not for appearance, nor gender nor wealth,
Nor for who you have waiting in bed.
With a Twittercrush, no-one gets cheated on much;
There’s no scope for bad break-ups or bitterness.
You’re not really in love with a person, as such;
You’re just smitten to bits with their twitterness.