numerology

balloons tied themselves 
to every single eye lash. i blinked
louder than jupiter & angerier 
than a shattered porch light.
laying on the sofa you counted
the hairs on my head & then
you asked me if i could see 
the angel-monsters sewing 
each second into place. i lied
& said i did. you were always
the mystic one with your 
ouija board fingers & your oracle
in the closet telling us
when we might die. you have a ritual
of only asking once a year
& you said to ask about your own death 
more than that was a sign of insanity.
did you know i went to question
every single night? each time
the throat gave me a new number.
month. day. year. i wrote them down
on scraps of toilet paper & notecards
& sometimes, on the backs of my hands.
how could it change so much? five years away
sixty years away. eight days away. 
i swam with numbers. laid down
in your whirling cast circles.
burned mugwort for peace. you held up
a tiny crystal ball & said
whenever you looked in it,
you only saw my face. i saw nothig
but blur. began to only trust numbers.
fixed & final. slept inside sevens
& made sure to kiss each day in even numbers.
hauling my body then to your oracle
& asking with trepedation
"do you know when i will die?"
you see i was not afraid of death
but worried i only had so much longer 
with you. yet, still, i wanted to be sure
to die first. i would not be lonely
with my numbers. did you truely 
never discover my habit? 
do you still have the oracle?
can i see it just once more.
i want a new number round
& etchable. i want to carve it.
mother it. hold it to its word.