Enigma Unmasked


Enigma Unmasked 


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.

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