You have ten sides,
I have examined each one
when you exhibited them to me
in a narcissistic flaunt of your golden ratio.
I have climbed the steepness of your vertices
and been impaled on your sharp angles;
even dissected to your individual faces,
you have never lost your cold symmetry.
From a distance you appear gentler,
rounder, but closer up I endured
the sculpture of your harsher lines,
and later I looked through the glassy shape of you
as if you were a window of calculated prisms.
I saw the span of sky and freedom through you,
I saw the expansion of oceans beyond
your mathematics - it filled my lungs
with the soft air that drifted outside
the outlines of your restrictive confines.
When I met you every segment of you opened,
bladed petals of 144 degrees of perfection,
but your geometry is a gilded cage
with its precision of ten bars and
ten laws of inflexible difficulties.