Against you, painted across

the dusk of your haunting wilderness,

what I have dreamed of.

​

What you have deemed as a fallacy.

​

I am close to extinction; my essence

dissipating, a voice once echoed by many

now obscured.

​

I know your mathematical thinking,

your bleak logic,

your precise ways.

​

How your words fall in the midst of calculation.

​

How blinding you still were in the subjective lens,

as you would say, of an idiot, a fool, someone

with literary pretensions.

​

Those of the lesser science.

​

Those of the falling field.

​

But I still anoint you with devotion,

hold your palms close to my pulsating heart,

openly,

in confession.

​

Splitting myself 

until the marrow cracks.