When Your Loops Back-Feed

In a dark room our fingers
twine like tentacles, alien soft
rubber tendrils
curl, pluck from hot air
notes the ear forgot, tucked in tight
as cushion seats
when they left
the Womb for the World,
long ago it seems.

Under-ceiling skies sink our heads beneath
the tapeworm swallowing
pressed pillows,
thigh-roots gnarled from friction
crackling deep-fire down our trunks
whispering, nuestro nombre--Fuego,
branch-limbs sway in the breath-breeze,
breast-fruit perks for the plucking.

Our sighs moan, sobre sealed labios
sprouting seeds of a song:
Y tú, deep
O tú, sea
Abreast
Abird
Abreeze,
a-bre-me-sin-fin
o-pen-me-in-fin-ite-ly.

Uno entra una di-men-sion
En la palabra parabolá,
Por que para volar, debes
Primero soñar
Sin alas
Si nadas,
las curvas
de
la Matemática
Son alta.

Lament-e de mar es
La lengua abstract-a.