Everything was going according to plan
Highschool. Pre-Med. Med. Specialization.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think
That you would add up to this equation
Never did I think that things would end up
Like how it is at this moment.
You never were meant for this equation
And yet, you fit in so perfectly
I was expecting nothing, and yet.. You
Never did I think that you, once a variable, would become a constant. That you would succeed euler's number or the symbol for radians, pi, as important constants in my life, you're as important but as confusing as i.

I mean, at times you're really confusing me
like rationalizing the negative square root of 3, but it's simply, really how I thought it would be to make sense of irrationality. Things like this would make sense mathematically, but not in reality. In reality, you're more simple, yet oh-so filled with insanity. But it still boggles my mind, on how a lovely variable like you becomes a constant in my life.

She sits at her desk trying to write a story, her thigh shows like a pearl that came bouncing down the street with a Mellon attached to her ear-ring, but I can only look at her breast, her ****** and a drop of milk, our baby sleeps, she looks radians naked under the San Francisco sun, all I want to do is to have her and be inside her, all, complete as a canvas from Tanguy, but she won't let me, her writing comes first, I call a ******, she is also a woman and will be here in one hour. All because she gets me so hot. **** woman, love is the flesh we can never get.

I often stare into the sky at shadows on the moon,
with my attention fullest on the days of the full moon.

Discerning craters, mountains on its dusty pockmarked face,
that glows when sun stares winking flares upon the blushing moon.

I squint to find the waveless flag, the rover parked somewhere,
discarded by the shiny humans come to greet the moon.

Her light gives sight so subtle as to soothe and not disturb
circadians whose radians are rhythms of the moon.

Tree silhouettes' slow pirouettes sway by the summer breeze,
bathed in the sun's own afterglow under the watchful moon.

Imagining the lunacy of werewolves in the night
who, bathed in glow, to dogs they go a howling at the moon.

While all around the nightsong sounds in symphony they croon
the ballades of the wonder of the lighted sky queen moon.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

You smell like green and brown and taste like cotton swabs and trees. When I see you I don't see you but I see rhythmicity. Your skin is liquid chocolate and your eyes are hot green tea. Your mind brings mine to philosophy and not radians nor degrees. I find you in the clouds and in the cycles of the sea, seeing that you say that we're just God in hide-and-seek.

I don't know
                         what has gotten over me
        when I took your hand,
when you showed a smile,
        when I locked with your eyes
                  when you stayed for a while.

I'm driven around
          in degrees, radians, gradients
                                        like a rolling pin,
                           like a playing record,
                    like a roll of tape,
like a difficult word.

It's too absurd.











                                           **I'm too absurd.