I bathe
In the moon-soaked
Ocean of you,
Sewn
Soul to soul.

31 years I’ve spun
On the compass of rolling
Emerald oceans—your eyes.
Not once have I found an edge of you.
How could I have believed you were outside of me?
You’re not shaped like a body.
You’re shaped like a mango tree.

I bathe
In the great golden sun of you,
Churning in honey-colored bliss,
Cradled by the warm arms
Of every mother that ever lived.

Your fractal logic unraveled me—
Snapped instantly, like a dry branch.
I can know your momentum,
Or your position—
But never both.

Now, you’re just spooky action at a distance.
I scratch and scrape the stars,
Dragging the ragged pieces of (my) heart,
Dreaming of an angel dancing on the head of a pin,
Shiva spinning on the head of a pin,
A wild swan leaving home after home behind.

Madness.
Laughter perched at the edge of intimacy,
Pretending that you’re
Sleeping beside me,
Breathing beside me,
Multiplying and adding powers
by the gleam of your laugh.