Your shadow angles through the half shut door
A parallelogram on the checkered floor
I measure space where your breath once rose
Cubic feet
of a love composed
The clock's hypotenuse divides the room
Splitting then from now, from almost, from
soon
The catasphere in the armchair's curve
Per's equations only loss observes
O solve for x in the axis of us
Where parallel lines converge to dust
The asymptote
of almost touch
A fractal lake
of missing much Sing sweet theorem of
lines grown cold
A proof too beautiful to hold
You left your gloves in the theorem's wake
Leather postulates I can't remake
The teapot's arc pours Newtonian grief
Steeping the hours
to a bitter relief
The wallpaper's tessellations bloom
Repeating roses in perpetual gloom
While the stairs cosine ascends to where
Your laughter lingers,
sharp
and rare
We were vectors meant to cross
My cluster in this albatross Of angles sharp and radius spin
A Euclidean accident
So I'll plot
our coordinates anew
Becks your absence,
why
the view?
And when the graph dissolves to night I'll trace the tangent
of your life
Geometry afterglow Where all the unsolved
answers go