I don't want to write you rhymes,
metaphors stuck in trip-hop scheme--
haiku and sonnets fucking free verse
on an analogy of sweat to breath.
I wrote you in shadows, the day's dusk
falling circles over your desk.
Maybe you stole my air, pilfered
my nightmares and replaced them with burlesque
daydreams-tangent swirls of your limbo-tango
flash-forward smiles junked beneath
protective aloof facades. I do it, too;
hide, formulate, fear.
I fuck you through lyrics and equations,
your cosine supersedes my hyperbole,
and your touch multiplies just beyond my personification.
