a god soft palate

i loved you once,

in the coagulated moment of

all my past lives.

*

blood is a math that ages much;

the way people do, it deepens

in body and color

on a years long journey

of polymathy

up a god soft palate.

*

 

i’ve turned mecca gold, i’m painted in

calculus grace. it’s so nice to see you (and your fucking Windsor tan eyes)

again. i keep meeting you even though

we’ve n(ever) met; we

seem to be hex-trapped in a tetragon of entangled fates and in this millisecond i pledge a melodramatic bitch’s scarlet oath that i’ve met you at least a chiliad times and it’s absolutely dizzying like January snow in Syracuse.

 

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