PLOT

plot.

brighter in the contrast, in the verge.

you build spirals into your universe

and we dance,

pulled toward one another in angular momentum,

orbiting into a cardioid.


when I have a library floor to myself.

we dance in the elevator,

the feeling that makes others sick

is the feeling of flying.


and what do professors profess?

mark it all on a graph

every book on these shelves

lies and truths and everything in between

everything not partly, but almost

everything is you.

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