I was a never a math person,
never soothed by its logarithms
and theorems, never comforted by
formulas you could put something
into and always get something back.
That was never the way we were.
The only equations I wanted
to solve were the ones on your face –
also, of course, the ones to which
I could never find real answers,
just the imaginary ones;
square root of negative one
would solve everything
if only it existed.
There wasn’t a graph where
we could plot the points of
self-destruction and redemption
except your skin, where I could
trace equally the lines of falling apart
and pulling together, shooting
off into infinity like a ray,
an unstable gasp of motion
we lived our lives by.
And the theory I hold of theories
is that they are supposed conclusions
of numbers and reasons
that never touched the meaning
we were always searching for,
but could have found had we
been looking in the human heart
rather than a calculator screen.
I have found everything;
it’s breathing inches
beneath your skin
in the places no one
ever bothered to look.