seventeen marble steps

leading up to your childhood bedroom.

three, four, or five dehydrated thoughts

before noon.

the deformity of form, and

the temporary infinity of a shadow.

the invisible ink of a solar flare, and hands

held together by a gentle syntax.
how ordinary. how marvellous.

kin to kin, fruit to seed

lip to eyelid to index finger to pelvis to veneer.

That Divine Thesis.
truthfully, I’m nauseous.

the blur of summer did this to me

             perhaps?
assorted backwards logics include:

a chance encounter

the tangibility of bass

the nagging of poetry

grace as amorous panopticon

italicised and ghostly frequency

the failed refraction of linear time, and

             whatever we had.