Nothing unjust
is ever erased;
the universe remembers
through the conscience
of consciousness.
Love is infinite by nature;
that is why
time cannot exhaust it.
Infinity was entropied.
Life is the bridge
between two deaths,
a line pulled from points,
a point stretched into dimensions,
zeros drawn into circles
spiraling like a spring released,
like spirals running on both sides
to find the oneness of their lost zero.
Presence exists
only at the edge
of omnipresence.
The kisses never happened—
not for lack of lips,
but because the spiral
never learned
how to return
to zero.
