This poem began a long while ago
in that usual Starbucks
in my favourite little corner,
back turned away from everyone else;
no one would see the smiles
as the moon stole the sun away and
threw it to the other side of the world,
so you laid claim to my thoughts,
the little pockets of nothingness
fluent, complete mathematics.
The mathematical induction:
Prove Un=(n+1) + C
kiss the tips of my fingers
the lips dance across, the teeth graze
to leave red marks that are not quite.
Torturous anticipation for the release yet to come;
“the release” –
as though, as if I know it by name-
I use the word ‘yet’, yet (there it goes again)
there is nothing if only one hand is pressed up against the glass.