She said, “You’re cute
and everything,
but save your crystals and auras—

You want to talk
with me, lover-boy, give me your
fractal components
of the self-replicating
inflationary universe, or give me your
omnidirectional time-line
of subatomic particles,
or give me your imaginary number
in the tachyon formula—

or fuck it, just shut up
and give me your tongue.”

(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 8, No. 6, Feb. 11-17, 1999. Copyright 1999, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)

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