Magic Shapes

by Christos Polydorou


Falling in love is
such bittersweetness :
do I give in,
do I give up,
how can I make you stay?

How can I delay your departure?
I want not to say the wrong thing
and seem too eager
too needy,
too broken.

One rests, when one is resting in broken
pieces,
like my robin mug I smashed accidentally
this morning when I reached into
the cupboard
to get the coffee

and a jar of honey dropped
onto my beloved, lucky mug,
destroying it. There are no accidents.
Life is transforming,
recreating the flow
of mundane details
and everyday objects
into harmonious patterns
that, should you be able to read them,
will be able to translate the shapes
of your destiny
into shoals and breezes
of pure magic.

See, the fact I didn’t mention
was that the cupboard
was not mine,
it was my roommate’s.
I was not technically stealing,
but for all effective purposes,
I was. The honey jar was his.
I apologized and he laughed.

I cannot predict what men will do next,
and when suddenly is over
I consider men predictable.
I have not heard from —-o
and -l– for hours.

I had been hopeful.
I the third wheel.
A third.
The unexpected third man.
The sudden apparent alchemist of love.

Falling in love is
such bittersweetness :
do I give in,
do I give up,
how can I keep playing?

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