"reader, read her"

at 2 AM, your screen dims then brightens— 
a single stanza pulses in the corner, 
waving like a lantern in the fog.

you swipe past: new playlists to follow, 
coupons to clip, endless feeds to scroll, 
poets you’ve liked, genres you’ve bookmarked.

but she—this blinking poem—leans closer,
her words unfurl, constellations expanding, 
beckoning you beyond your morning latte 
and the ping of everyday rewards.

suddenly, the page expands: 
high peaks glint in verse, 
oceans breathe in meter, 
and horizons widen within your heart.
open your eyes—she’s waiting. —read her, now.

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