she braids her hair in three smooth strands

that criss-cross in a group of order three.

she has crimson tattoos in

delightful and delicate arches.

she likes Norwegian

death metal.

the hair on her leg, like a cockroach’s antenna

grasps everything, and

the sweat trickling from her back

is as lost as I am.


i imagine us as two solar systems

heading for collision,

promising great fireworks

in the sky for

others to wish their wishes from.


but instead, we dance around the

black hole between us:

and are flung away

with our farewells

echoing in space for eternity



with no one to hear.


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