I wrote six dozen stories over the course of two weeks,
Etching each letter into my bed frame,
Hoping that out of all the combinations
Of three letter words
I would come up with your name.

You'd think I'd do that math for that.
You'd think I'd check the facts,
To see if any of it even makes sense,

Because I love the accuracy
And simplicity
Of ninety degree angles,
And double knotting my laces
Till they’re imprinted in my ankles.

But maybe I'll leave it to the stars;
My horoscope read tonight:
Expect fireworks this week,

Which is exciting, but
I'm on the cusp of two signs,
And the other one wants me to try.

And I would,
I really would,

But when I hurl myself into the void
I'll fall heart first onto an arrow.
And I'm not quite sure if it's from
Cupid’s bow, or a Navajo
Who's fighting for all he's lost, or
What he's scared he'll come to know.