a study in numbers and superficiality by sylveda, literature
Literature
a study in numbers and superficiality
he smiled in parabolas;
and only when one could not chart his distance any longer did I stop and notice
how the constellations of freckles mapped across his cheeks
could be points on Orpheus’ plane—
how beautifully his face sang, how dainty was his
porcelain pout against the rough hewn glare of
his Neptunian gaze.
Fibonacci’s numbers charted his visage—a elegant landscape,
sym-met-ry, accordance—
[one plus the square root of five, divided by two]
He was music, he was melody, he was Apollo’s last song,
his last prophecy, his last poem—
he was a canvas, a graph, a parabola extending to two-di
when i was your lioness and
we ruled the world with
scattered light and
ephemeral dreams.
and
after all this time, i
still stay up late thinking of you,
pinching myself awake to keep the image of you in my head
until i hear you sing me to sleep.
we all have our demons, i was always yours.
waking up with bruises on my arms in an empty bed,
the devil inside of me whispers that it's not over yet, and
he pumps turbulence from my carved open heart into my saltwater blood
i feel every half-healed scar split op
en to bleed yet again.
wanting you is wanting the safety of the stars
when i'm already in free fall (into the grave).
my siren, i was b