The mind that came alive when your mouth met mine is working overtime,
so notice that the lipstick for when I go to meet you is long-wear but not as long
as you keep your distance, thanks to the equilibrium of electromagnetic forces
that avow we can never really touch anyway, there being no actual physical push
in the universe, though we both believe that people who squeeze your upper arm
by way of greeting must all be quarantined and condemned unless they learn
that magnetism is really only repulsion in reverse, so hail that big crunch
that killed your great-grandfather and birthed the city of your intelligence
or whatever it was that gave you your last name, bringing you to a local notary
one September morning hoping to secure an affidavit for the loss of virginity,
thinking idly about the unicorns you would never saddle, celebrate the pocket
ghosts and the little demons of unfamiliar bedsheets, hooray for the shape
of the universe that will ultimately decide its end, and thank you forces above
for the battering ram that is only a less subtle version of the lockpick, I am
pounding ungracefully at your heart, hoping the universe is a sphere after all,
so when I stand on some high peak I can actually look at the back of my head
and from there admire the view.

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