I'm finding it rare to breathe
with ease and you see
it's nothing new-
  my days with you have flooded into every dream and every word that I speak.
I've never been good at math and I hate
that I love it in the way
the curve of your back
is congruent
to the angle of your mouth
and it fits perfectly
into the ellipses of my beaten lips
r u n n i n g
only gets you so far when the world
is round-
I'm sorry I have to leave
because my words don't form
when those rousing fingers
are tracing secrets into my thighs
and you don't know this but
writing is the world that wholly
consumes me
and maybe it's kind of
an esoteric thing-
But I must live without love
because they say
if you can't be the poem,
B E  T H E  P O E T
besides,
haven't you heard
all the greatest loves
are the unfinished ones?