Obtuse Hype Show me your calculus of love, bespectacled apprentice of the Halls of learning,
I want right angles of interlocking lovers thighs, parrelograms on mattresses, and first derivatives of orgasmic joy,
interweave your sciences in an ecstatic equation that only two lovers cryptographic glances can decode,
fuse the atoms of my hearts desire in unison and tame uncertainties harsh terms.
Let true lovers be found in microscopic levels of universal plentitude, let scales cease to exist and If not, may I at least have just one kiss from mother earth before she is too frail to understand.
  ¶ 6:15 PM