The Triangle

There’s you and me and him — three elements
whose formula for sexual chemistry
is complicated by ingredients

that don’t conform to what we ought to be.
We love at variance with time and place
and disregard for true geometry,

our trinity’s irregular: the space
between us can be worlds, or seas, or years.
I find you in an ancient Roman face,

you see him in a news clip from Algiers,
he traces me through distant galaxies.
We sing a music solely for our ears

never for other listeners; we please
ourselves - or I please you, or he’ll please me,
or you’ll find some exciting game to tease

the two of us, and equanimity
is what we seek. The worlds around us fit
our changing angles; shifts in our degree

become the latest patterns that commit
us into one, that moulds (like hand the glove)
our spirits to some heavenly infinite

that might not match today’s clean template of
the multi-layered shadow world of love.