i.
i asked her to cut off my finger
standing at the entry way or was it exit
watching her ride down the east london road perched atop a metallic bike rack
foreheads touching i mumbled
we entwined on the couch, Rod of Asclepius
harmless snake or more cliche;
serpent imploring to taste the fruit of knowledge
was the snake satisfied having catalyzed the fall
was eve made better
gaze demanding she cut his finger
save him from playlists encumbered by love songs
mind consumed by alternative hypotheses
naive expectations of a future apart
her vacant stare past fabric stores
creaky bike chirping flanked by chicken shops
she cant or she wont
ii.
she did that stupid thing
ive seen it in the movies
while i helped her with her spreadsheet
of all things
she resting her body against mine
as a lover
leg delicately weighing non-attached
is it her nakedness that consumes me?
my romanticized crywank.
my friend, ascribed meaning where there was none.
im sad to know (youre leaving). and leaving me with the lovecraftian horrors.
and our adventures on bikes threatening to fall apart.
rattling down dirt paths and cobblestones.
already i commemorate these in marble monoliths to future gods.
we pause to think on time at south bank gallery.
surrounded by wellcome and neon paint.
love or in love; chaos limerence; chaos vagina
crowds out my decision to love.
reveals youth.
which is why i cannot love.
only be in love
.
.
.