Let x be her breath—
unmeasured, but constant.
Let y be the curve of her thought,
asymptotic to mystery.

Her laughter: a sequence approaching infinity,
each echo a smaller echo of itself.
Her eyes solve light for motion,
refractions carrying proof of soul.

When I integrate her silence,
I find the shape of time;
it widens, converges,
then collapses into yes.

She is theorem and theorem-breaker,
beauty written in irrational numbers—
π in the body of grace,
φ in the architecture of grace undone.

And when the universe divides by her,
it doesn’t diminish—
it learns symmetry,
and begins again.

:: 10.10.2025 ::