Would you be kind enough to give me your true opinion of my poem "The Cold"?

“The Cold”

Cold as a sunny winter’s day

Cold as a computer’s friendly user screen

* * * *

I am like my grandmother

One minute laughing, the next minute crying

My grandmother speaking in Yiddish to my mother,

turned to me for one moment to say “get married”

I didn’t marry

* * * *

The computer and the cellphones are the new love and sex objects

When the cell phone rings, I rush to answer,

in ecstasy, the song of an orgasm

I gaze onto the computer screen with a lover’s intensity,

a lover’s thrill

Who sent me an email

Who answered my question on Yahoo Answers

And yet there is a great detachment

as if the email was written by itself

as if the people who answered questions on Yahoo Answers really are avatars

Another online friend disappeared today

I don’t know why and I don’t care to investigate

A vague detachment has set in

as if that communication was not with a real person

as if that person existed just to entertain me like a computer game

As Bruce Springsteen sings 57 channels and nothin’ on

So we in the computer age are free

to have instant communication with almost anyone in the world

Then why I am so lonely and forlorn at home, hugging my cat

Perhaps the cold computer is the same friend as the TV was

Remembering how it keeps you company

Never succumbing to loneliness when high tech help is always here

The winter scares me

The cold becoming colder

The people rushing to get out of the cold

The darkness with the bare trees

and the traffic lights flashing without warmth

The winter fear is reminding me that life is so cold

as cold as online friendship

even when it suddenly turns passionate

as I type in words that mean so much to me

proving to the other how clever and compassionate I am

and proving to myself once again that I am a talented writer

But then the words are cold too

Placed on a cold screen to an unknown quantity

Amazingly, this unknown quantity continues to respond

to my quick wit masquerade

The cold winter killing the green life

and the lifeless computer connecting me to other lives

These frozen lives live on, unnatural to this word intimacy,

and without my ever feeling their breath on my face