perpendicular

I need you
to lie my geometry out
and stay congruent to
my desperate angle's shape.
To watch the fitted fog
luminesce on starlight dew,
in round perfect squares,
underneath the crust.

I need your
biting sphere to whisper
soft midnights
through each ear
and clayshape the darkness
to make me disappear.

I need your
tone-deaf fretless wonder
up and down the string
of five-seven-five
and the master's secret thunders
peer beneath your eyes.

I need your
nine-pointed starshine
to collect
in snowdropped pearls,
stowing away secrets
and softly crossing a lie,
dividing my radius
into pieces of pi
underneath the crust.

I need you to lie
within my geometry,
and stay parallel
to my desperate angel shape.