There’s nothing greater than your scent
You’re equal to gods; a goddess
The addition of your breasts and buttocks
Is a complex problem with an easy solution
Words of a poet studying Math,
Forgive the errors.

I’m devoted to the division of your legs,
And the touch from your lips
Causes my heart rate to multiply,
Something squared of the beats of yours and mine,
I didn’t pay attention on the topic of love,
Forgive the inconsistencies.

There’s an infinite amount of want,
Lined in the formula of the texture of your skin
It’s difficult to remember
But I plan to recite it into nothingness
Until my essence is nothing but full of you
Forgive my hiccups if any.

But let there be no subtractions my love
Let us dwell with each other in closed brackets
And may our children be indices to our solutions.
But I pray you turn over and see the other page
Where I’m still lost in calculation,
For in our love there shall be no errors
And nothing to forgive.

– Smyekh David-West.


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