*and you can tell everybody, that this is your poem…

i. the limit: some infinities are bigger than the other…

Determining the Slope:

I rack my brain until I focus in on one instant of time that distilled the peak of happiness between us. I subtract me from the equation and am left with only *u. Naturally, I take out a piece of paper and compose the instant into a poem.

Conceptualizing How Small Infinity Can Be:
I fold the paper continually, constantly, evenly, until I cannot fold it any further. I realize, conceptually, that I could continue to fold it, but it’s too dense for my lady fingers, still, it’s lost no value, it’s lost no mass. I finally grasp infinity in the palm of my hand. I finally have conceptualized how small something so endless is truly. I no longer feel burdened by the pain of losing you, and dwell in the blessing of the memory in perfect peace.

Expressing the Derivative Function:

Guilty. I went off on another tangent, didn’t I? Trying to create a harmonic frequency between us.  Attempting to unionize algebra and geometry; discovering calculus. ( – us ) 

It clicks. It took only the crack of a heartbreak. Although, from within the confines of our 4-D spacetime it sounded more like a big bang. It wasn’t quite so dramatic from the vantage of a higher plane. My guts, thoughts, and inner-workings spilled outward and in every direction — hot with grief but cooling quick— the seemingly un-seen ingredients congealing into spherical structures and gaseous masses. I step back from this new universe, wipe the salt from my bleary eyes, see clearly and declare, “It is good.”

Glad to finally understand what I was made of. Even if I had to be dis-integrated, first.

Isolating the Integral:
I had a thirst for knowledge; crafted water. A little bit of hydrogen, some oxygen, atoms, bosons, and quarks in all their flavors squeezed together into a swirling tonic fluere. I take a sip and remember being human. How strange. How lovely. I fashion a lime, —slice— my drink becomes complete.

I recall the slope of your throat and calculate it inch by inch forever. May the limits of a frail female heart never condense *u into something finite in her fever. May *u flow forward in infinite flux, avoiding every event horizon, transcending lightspeed, and all that matters, in every direction you choose to fly in.



*six pm

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