"A realm outside our understanding"
has come to mean the known universe
averaged with the potential for ignorance;
the way the body falls away from its own touch,
the way agoraphobia is exacerbated by flaying.

You are the convergence of asymptotes reaching
collapsed potentials, cold starts, almost,
the endless approaching each self-imposition.
With askance timing, a nervous babble of tired words.
An honest hand sticky with beer takes my rehearsed honesty,
hands me a cold one: cold sweats.
I take it as a handshake.

At a distance I gravitated to myself.
I made plagiarism self-referential,
a squishy analog for the precept of self.
I relived memories indiscriminately,
the way the body is outside understanding,
the way these lines converge with a touch.