Euclid’s Fifth

Oh, our geometry is so non-euclidean! I am rectangular; you alternate kitten with semi-soft ovoid that toyed with my tongue. These things can’t be written, they can only be done after very many drinks on a breezy dark deck. Sometimes you are an hourglass, and my bent lines are let turn you over and spill you on somebody else’s sheets. Normally we’d care but there’s so little time to meet that it’s better that we focus on our neat neat symmetry. You are converging towers sunken at the bottom of a sea and I am wet and ready slippery and clinging to a rail that wobbles in and out of being with each quivering exhale. Oh to be a line segment, swallowed by an angle! Oh to have the soft power to nice and gently strangle thoughts that parallel lines, against form, do not in fact entangle. Well in some small worlds they do. In some curved places my long lines start intersecting you.

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~ by perfectionatrix on June 29, 2011.

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