I look at my past decade or so
Like a map spread on tabletop
(Curling edges held back so I can
plan courses for my future).
I see there the women I have known, plotted
At points pinned with bright crystal markers.

And the paths that I have taken form a
Series of circles, delicate orbits twisted around
Whoever my current vortex was back then.
My trail is made of S shapes, eights, Spirographs,
Always swinging from one curve to another,
And never in my own straight line.