There are no straight lines.
Irregardless of the mathematician's linear regressions
or the philosopher's proofs,
life bends upon itself
and the terrain rises before our eyes again
and again and
again.
Familiar, though different,
each time synchronistically,
we know one another;
by scent,
the opulent curve of a lip,
the flashpoint behind the eyes
and in rare times
one soul to your soul.
Though recognition is no guarantee
of shared time, place or space.
Straight lines are a concept.
Like romance
they live in the mind and cannot be made real
no matter how hard or worthy the try
there is always the immeasureable distance
between points
between hearts.
The trick to tossing up your heart
is to purposefully give it a curve
and then wait,
with untold patience,
to see
who bends back round
and claims it.
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