these three remainders
you, me and her are
the legacy of simple math
and boolean logic, not so much

we have lost our ability
to add and multiply
desire sliding slowly
off the tail end of X

crossed paths in a cradle of
American comforts
so many plus signs
weighed us down

there is no magic in subtraction
a solitary horizontal bar
where nothing stays,
at least for very long

this foil between us
I lunged from the left
you two repelled, siblings
parrying behind Prospero

division is our only function
anemic lines squeezed
between fecund dots
expecting no friction

only a clean cut
which never heals
despite our common

heir apparents with no answers
still wanting some of it all