me, collapsing my soul
on one point,
no longer roaming into
every possibility,
but forced into
whatever position you
demand in making your
reply, finite and
static before your
analyzing ears.
I'd rather sit here in
uncertainty
thinking dead-and-alive
thoughts at
299,792,458 m/s than
look you in
the eyes and hold you
with my gaze.
So I hope that you'll
forgive me when
I pretend I haven't
noticed you, because
I'm a fan of awkward
superpositions—
I wouldn't want to
collapse you either.
