The universe would turn this way and that in front of the bedroom mirror and sigh.
With her graviton fingers she would pluck at her dimpling rippling thighs.
To rearrange the molecules, planets and moons, to satisfy her vanity.
But they would return, settling in their most comfortable orbits,
And with such desperate dismay would throw down her asteroid fists and return to bed.
Her Lover, stirred from the sleep of their latest intimacy,
Would curl up against the cool touch of her vacuum skin and call to her in pillow whispers.
No, she would roll window side, wrapped in linen, and complain of
her belly and arms spilling out from the navy negligee.
So dark and deep one could be lost forever in the navel, the soft slope of her creasing elbows.
You’re Beautiful he would say, with his words hinging on the door
Of possibility. Knowing her secrets depends on negotiating these bedroom laws.
Speak sweetly, he knows she’s a woman after all…
But you’re not. You’re just growing broader, more complex
Reaching the far corners of cognition.
An orgasm of potential, you claw the very walls of my being with hope
Of capturing you with symbols and numbers
You don’t know me.
But I must, and if you trust me, I’ll write lyrical equations of your mathematic miracles,
Count the satellites and sunspots, look this blemish a comet, this dimple an imploding star.
This wrinkle the rings of Saturn, please let me touch your soul.