Inside each of us
Is a room. Inside this room
Is another room.
Each is smaller than the next.
Nature was not kind
or outside it pulsed
smally like bees inside us
Nature insists on approximation
an intimacy that is mainly repetition
how the body approaches a world safely
but only by making it three
Remember your body stepping away
from what it could not leave
a flower with mannerisms
that mimic
unfortunate
you said to me once
how our hearts embolden
but cannot cleave
at birth each of us is given three hearts
you will have to burn them all
Studies show singularity is a myth.
There is more than one of everything.
Which makes intimacy complicated.
As children we understood survival as
a method of posture. It’s difficult to
sustain, to be continual. A body must
sacrifice her surface if it is to remain (&
perpetually) beneath.
Narcissus, who did not tend to it.
Each love is the selfish love.