Enigma Unmasked
Enigma UnmaskedÂ
The Sapphic triangulation is falling apart.
O — lingering a bit, such fragrance, that tight hug.
That summer of your Italian kiss, a dream without.
Along the Merri Creek. Up
On the hill. Over-
Looking at the shimmering/orange deadliness.
The word is not but the sound of it is droopy.
English does not have characters;
It is made from memories and sounds.
Same as triangulation.
Three of us, three kinds of memories, two different sounds.
Your love, my resin. He is everything I want.
You play the harp.
I mistake rouge for rogue (memory), rim for rhyme (sound).
The triangulation requires a third one:
Both necessary and unnecessary.
Screenshots are necessary; they capture the ephemeral, ethereal.
You play the harp. He listens. I take screenshots.
You can die now. Stop playing the harp.
Or I can die now. You keep playing your harp.
But he cannot die. He, a demigod.
Perhaps I am the third element, the unnecessary one.
Do not linger. Die now.
I shall swallow, swallow the O.