There is geometry in the humming of the strings,
there is music in the spacing of the spheres.
– Pythagoras


When I think about what day it is
Dates blur, if I look
further, past
05.03
twenty
twenty
a bunch of O’s and dots
and digits, stuck together, unwieldy

If only I could feel their insignificance
with you, nudge them towards
the bed, moonlit
where we can spend
our time, studying the way

Bodies tangle in
white sheets, cold feet and
all the heat rising to our chests
that rest in parallel,
while lips draw lines and circles
across our pale paper skin,
postulating on whether or not
‘all right angles
are congruent’,
sharp elbows overlaid
and legs wrapped tightly
around each other,
in golden spirals.

Who knew Euclidean geometry
could be so intimate.