When time turns to granite, immovable,
you will be there. A quartz crystal ribon through me.
Dancing. Flickering in scattered fragments.
Jagged and geometric.
You are what picasso saw.
Each shard of you exposed, all at once.
For the ribcage axiom:
dancing stars are fragile things.
Comet dust swept up by us.
I break like shale under you.
Disintegration is the price:
carve me like Niagara.
You keep missing Fibonacci
We are in the fractal.
And we are the fractal.