Ab irata

Don’t tell me all the angles
unless you talk geometry
I want words that hold their own with truth,
Quod Erat Demonstrandum of the heart:
Euclid knew his language.

Say what you mean in Greek:
I want to be your complement
I want to be your supplement
I want to lie beside you with the sides of us
adjacent from the vertex out forever
so the missing pieces of each other
form a horizontal line
that cuts the universal plane in half.

I’m not playing with probabilities.
I don’t want decimals.

I am Hypatia, with her mathematics
and I know she died for what she knew
but let me tell you
she was not stoned to death
because she was obtuse
she was stoned because she was

and it’s true the truth can get you killed
but it also draws a long, straight line
one unassailable dimension,
ad infinitum
perfect connection
my soul to yours
and we do not get there
when you speak