Fibonacci Strings

by kkmeow

Her heavy breath swells
across my nape in eager wisps,
holding oxygen between us.
I crane inward to absorb
the hot swarm and clutch
invisible nothing.
I’m a steady contraction.

Twenty‐seven heat slugs
patrol my shoulder blades.
She mouths stories of how
every floret has her own
Fibonacci zero. All my slugs
silken into marionette threads.
This is tonight incarnate––

evolution of bait to catch.
Reeled and boomeranged
through her silhouette on sheets;
I am no where suspended
adrift. Hovering over me, she
migrates in and through as I glide
into the smallest space
between skin and sound.

She has endless
tricks: palm‐cupped air
will burst fountains and puddle
beneath my convex spine,
just to show how black feather
wishes rise––whispering let me
gnaw on your bones so white.

 

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