and
(as I waste my math classes
typing your name
into my calculator)
or you curl up, just you
(alone) in the corners of
your bloated home

isn't it lonely,
with equations swarming
like greedy bees,
to find that you
have tapped into that aching question mark,
which brings you up, then
drops you
down
(like that slide you remember
from your woodchip playground)
?

oh you
you know what
I know about forever –
deepening questions as
you gaze off where the teacher isn't speaking because he hasn't found the point
inside the softness of it all.
(or maybe he hid it
under too many papers
not so very long ago)

but as
I squint through the static
of the blur of textbooks
orbiting me always
and blocking my view
of infinity, and you
find that you have wasted
your discerning dreams on moments
already passed,

and discover
that you aren't asking anymore
for the answer to that
every echoing question mark
of now and always and you and I

know
now

every why recoils from love.