infidel

she says she sees me smiling      
inside a star tetrahedron      
giddy as shit as it spins    
     
I forgot to tell her    
that I was on my hands and knees    
picking up cigarette butts    
waiting for the bar to open    
     
she gets more words than my wife    
who picks vomit, lovingly      
off of my vehicle    
whether its slime or geometry      
     
I write to the part of her      
she hides from her husband      
so that my life might copy      
a fractional romance of language      
     
she doesn't really exist      
anymore than amorphous facets      
that crystallize under intent    
     
yet, here I sit with a used Merkaba      
too dinged up from the derby    
to deny