Your one over my one,
Sweat heaving in crevices,
In dark bedrooms,
Separated by a thin line,
Makes a whole.
My lover needs me to put
Two and two together,
To tell him it will come out right,
That four is too many,
Or even three.
That one is just enough.
I press soft blankets between my thighs,
I watch him pulling out and away,
Slipping back into the shadows of his clothes.
My Pythagoras, you love this too much,
These equations of flesh and heat,
This me times you,
Keeping me safe in this denominator.
You say fraction upon fraction upon fraction
Can never be zero, but I tell you
The division is already lost.
My name has been forgotten.
The truth is not relative.
You stand laughing in your big boat
While I flail frantically in this sea.

editors note: Seek a valuable one, add up to a lifeboat for two. (We welcome Rachel to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay