You exist not

You exist not

in thin wisps of dreams
like fraying shoelaces, the aglets
                     fallen out a year ago.

My greatest lament is your projection
                            the contours along your waist
                            the warmth of your lips
                            the chemical in your hair
                                                                                    to the senseless plane.

Spacetime is a four-dimensional topological manifold with a Lorentzian metric and a time orientation satisfying the Einstein equations.

And so I claim the paradox.
We stand still but seasons
change, the sun and moon
share the sky’s watch, and
the Earth fails to escape
the time continuum.

That is why
I latch on to your photons and electrons,
                      your inorganic representations,
                      your notion of existence.

Someday, I’ll meet you again.


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