14 colors in the rainbow

under fluorescent hymn we splinter into theorems:

one: fourteen & fumbling through third-floor prophecies

two: october's tender violence, tinted with remnants of heat

three: your face a palimpsest of borrowed wings

7:45 bleeds autumn into summer's aftermath. i find you

stooping before porcelain altar, third sink becoming confessional—

your spine curved like a question mark, each plucked lash

a decimal point in beauty's cruel arithmetic. you rewrite

yourself in negative space, in absence, in the hollow

where natural meets artificial color, blending.

fake ones, i say without thinking

my tongue heavy with calculus & constants,

wednesday mornings spent racing through proofs

while you architect new geometries of self.

you turn: one eye naked testament, one eye adorned prophecy,

a bisection of before & after captured in fluorescent truth.
Why wear them if you’re already—
beautiful? you finished, pressing fresh lash on with a practiced twist, ritualistic

you turned to me then, eyes now perfectly matched, little suns and

glue suspends between dimensions like spaces between stars

while your hair drifts gossamer across temple's foundation,

where makeup cracks reveal mortality beneath divine.

i wear plainness like theoretical armor, miscalculating

beauty's coefficient of drag, the force required

to lift girl-wings against gravity of expectation.

you teach me morning's translation:

how transparency requires artificial shadow,

how visibility comes in counted increments,

each lash a brushstroke in identity's calligraphy.

black wing traced eye, fluttering up, sharp line and hook.

you lean close—peach fuzz aureole above pink glossed lips—

& the fault line ruptures: girl-self splits into parallel universes.

we stand fractured across school bathroom stained mirrors,

half-formed theorems seeking proof of existence,

neither quantum state fully collapsed:

truth/lie/compromise oscillating in superposition

until the bell's metallic tongue

rings us back into singular dimension.

between bathroom sink & classroom desk,

we lose ourselves in transformation's labyrinth:

your borrowed wings, my borrowed certainties,

all of us borrowing shapes to pour ourselves into,

while morning light refracts through window-prism,

splitting fourteen into infinite spectrum of becoming.