The numbers of attraction

Poor Adonis that miser him. Poorer me
windswept and stationary. My muscular
face, as yours but barely, holds keys.
Plenty of them. For instance, many of them,
I posit the stretch of a leaf is my cheek
governed by a similar mathematic, in grief
though a number is us a poor cinaedus sought.
What the sex number is us sexless ought
have more of than a reproductive engine.
Lord lady him, the half-powder and half
body him lauded what was never a pedestal
his autonomy wanted, was instead a rubric
his features wanted. Gauged as a train
in the train graveyard. Again, the stretch
and strain of my singular cells held in plenty
make for certain faces. One I know is false,
another falser, another sleeping I regret
for all its guiling ugly as it ever was.

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~ by Jeremy on June 7, 2012.

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