An Olive Curves Like Space

I took pictures of him at the Golden
Gate Bridge and he took them of me we
              didn’t do them together though. Made him

listen to Lorde on the drive home, told him
You’ll have to learn what I like eventually.

Never been to California til that weekend
my body learned the shape of palms, splayed-
              out rib tailing splayed-out rib. Didn’t

know that I could become this, each
node of the spine another spine, each

window another eye. Read yesterday that
the universe might be a loop, and I thought of
              the coiling hallways of our tiny spaceship

Vancouver hotel room, and a manzanilla
olive he fed me in his summer apartment

kitchen with a spoon, salty and fat and pitted.
It is the universe bent back,
              filled with sweet pimiento.

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