Antony and Cleopatra came into my bedroom tonight as I was falling asleep. Cleopatra curled up at the foot of my bed like an Egyptian cat. Antony whispered into my ear, “I never want to leave you.”
Euler’s number to the square root of negative one times pi plus one equals the feeling that can be described only as the way blond girls wear black lipstick, or that moment when your phone screen screams I MISS YOU RIGHT BACK.
Cleopatra flew too close to the sun. Now Antony wears a cross like an albatross. This time the Second Sunday came a week too early. Or a week too late.