You can't stop Chronos from wearing us down
and wearing me out
with warped definitions of 'exclusivity',
so I draw circles and figures,
patterns of my domesticity,
and string them together into a beaded line
so we'll defeat the myth:
so you'll wear it and wear Time.
I think we may have found the escape hatch,
the trick to outsmart the ghostly cage:
this sense of melting time and age.
There's no way to hide behind what's geometric
because this is basic chemistry,
spelling lessons in anatomy,
and a gramatical error could
separate U and I.
I dare your molecules to realign,
to spread and travel toward me
in a dizzying sort of wind,
then rearrange them so I can be overwhelmed
by your ability to leave me b r e a t h l e s s .









