The End of Symmetry

The following was a SLAM poem (24 hours to a prompt.)

SLAM Prompt -- Use: Square, circle, triangle

The End of Symmetry

My former lover once said that the square of us was ecstasy,
but toward the end, we cast off only dark circles.

I remember when he told me the geometry of love was simple,
just lines of similarity with shared traverses of thoughts.

And for a while, we did have myriad points of intersection,
and, oh, how lush were the ellipticals as we pumped space and time.

Could it be we ended up quoting too many axioms and theorems
instead of plotting out futures across shared co-ordinates?

I remember how our angles melded into soft, sweet curves,
circumferenced with gasps as our bodies bisected the heat.

Those were the days when I stopped listening to Plato’s voice.
Yes, I fooled my senses and threw out all reason, but it was lovely.

Even Einstein knew relativity applied to the curvature of love;
in that space where two hearts are racing, everything fits.

Then Pythagoras, cruel Pythagoras, how dare he enter our bedroom;
he with his talk of triangles, he uncurved our forms and patterns.

Topology assures us that substance does not change in the bending,
but there is a limit -- when surface tension frays all bases.

For she dropped into the sphere of days – she, the diameter of our circle,
slicing and dicing pieces of us -- like fallen stars -- into ashes and stone.

Perspectives turned brittle; we stopped corresponding.
Tangents sprang from every curve; refraction bent us crooked.

Euclid wept; Riemann reached out; but we careened into different planes,
And it was over. Nulled. Finite. My lover's vertex altered.

Such is the nature of man. Adaptability is tessellation.
My area, alas, zeroed. And, I, alone, a single line, am sadly now adrift.



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