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
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.