Those I love best
are dust of feet, are bone to bone, are rag
and gut—and none of this
will matter. In fact matter
will not matter. I cannot feel
physics for void of you. Yes, I am flesh, wound
as copper coil or anaconda entrail,
neurons pulsing as mind maps maze within
which a rat is running within
whose brain lies
the map within which I
am running and so on. I
cannot stop, ever. In the transfer lounge I
caressed your cobra arcs with my
ten fingers before our separate
launchings but time was leaving. Now
decimal is future and our two planes un-
destined to intersect until spacetime bends. Such is flesh—
the basis of those I love
best. Soon to be superseded. So how
will I unbend—will I make it
love me? Will I will it
like a snakestrike?
(Editors’ Note: “Love Letter in Cobra Pose” is read by Erika Ensign on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast, Episode 62B.)
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© 2025 Shankar Narayan
