Twelve months, twelve hours
twelve signs of the Zodiac
twelve tribes of Israel
twelve apostles and twelve jurors
twelve steps, twelve notes, twelfth night
twelve knights around a table
twelve days of Christmas
Twelve astronauts who walked on the moon
and twelve petals in the heart chakra.
I will always be twelve
a one facing two
the tip of an inverted triangle
hanging from the two ends of my base
a lineage of desire.
Puberty put an end to my suspended animation
pried me from that equilateral embrace
embedded me in other geometries
of wilder shapes and intangible points of contact.
I triangulated my way
seeking the softness of curves
but could not escape the lure of triangles
in the hourglass shapes of my loves
in their lush pubic thickets in which I got lost
in the tangle of love triangles
and their inevitable trinity
of beginnings, middles, and heartbreak endings.
Even the dual bliss of matrimonial convergence
proved the paradox that 1+1=3.
I yearned to rewind the clock
to circle back to that magical beginning
which was also an end
to childhood, to innocence
to the time when one and two
were once just one.