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
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 frireworks
in the sky for
others to wish their wish 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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