Rings

You drift out, a cool air above the warm glass lake. The further you get all your lines and your symmetry unfurl like the fog, sharp angles and harsh features curving soft as shoulders. And I believe you. Perhaps the clouds will you take you in a veil called God’s envy. You are so impossible that you are all the more real

Real in the bright swan-necked loops you weave between us—infinite.

I pour out.