Sitting and
staring blankly at the chalkboard
I grasp for
strands of understanding.
Words entangle
the curves and tunnels of knowledge,
Congruous,
perpendicular, isosceles.
The lines are
dancing playfully on the board,
Intersecting,
crossing, angling.
Cliques of
triangles form perfect angles of ABC.
Everything
zigging and zagging, crissing and crossing.
All except the
parallel lines.
They exist in
solitude.
They travel the
same direction on the same plane,
But they will
never meet.
Both are headed
to the same destination,
To the same
infinity.
But they will
never get a chance to cross,
Never feel the
excitement
Of
intersecting, of crossing, of being perpendicular.
so for now, I
just watch every move you make
From the second
story window and wish
To intersect,
to cross, to be perpendicular,
But know it can
never happen.
