A series is convergent (or converges) if the sequence of its partial sums tends to a limit;
in another lifetime I’d still / be thanking this one / in another kitchen I’d tie your apron
/ saucepan grease-slick / and you would slip me / nothings sweet / like honeyed laughter
you’d said honey you are a sprinkling/ of everything / in this lifetime, the kettle
whizzes and wheezes / we waltz scapula in one hand saucepan in the other
when adding one after the other in the order given by the indices, one gets partial sums that become closer and closer
I’ve been thinking about liminal space / interdigits / intertwined
fingers / clumsy / clasping coffee mugs / well-clunked and chipped
invitations / in between the Everything / we don’t say
I love you integer whole / all your anxious / asymptotic apart / together a pain in the ass /
a pleasure in all other ways / “closer and closer”
raison d’ etre / running towards not from / your spine and mine
circled / like a purring cat / “one gets partial sums” / sinking
into seder wine stained / sofas and shawls / your mother donated
/ we smile and say nothing / later and we should do / this again sometime
