Euclid once wrote
a point is that which has no part
but i have no such purity
in me, outside of love. so i waited
on the tarmac for the waves over
the southern point
to break open our veins.
i cry out those marine slangs
for you and your naked storms
at dusk. we splash about
in that giant flesh, imploring
for more. we go like blossoms.