Lisa Williams reads

Geometry

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I made myself a circle, then a square.
I made a box too small for him to open
and then a portal which, from anywhere,
displayed the magnitude of my affection.

Once full of pliant roundnesses and curves,
his private tapestry, I made a skin
tight as a drum, impervious to pain
and drew this on as if to stop an army,

then turned into a blossom on a plain,
rose-like and fragrant, luring him to come
and nestle in. I threw the flower at him
crumpled in a ball. It hit the floor

and there I was: plain angry red, a sphere
as foreign to his faculties as Mars.
In every way I wanted him to care.
I made myself a circle, then a square.