"This love is like the ghost of Schrödinger’s dead cat" by Syreeta Muir

I’m sure my moans could carry

across 4000 miles. More maybe.

They go as the crow flies when I think

you’re in another woman’s bed.

I have my fingers crossed

against it— the thought of your closed curves,

your celestial bodies ascending

in euphony…

nauseating—

warm hands, heads, tongues;

caresses are just speculative structures and, god,

I’m linking them all,

killing Spacetime.

Your disparate points should be mine.

In another version, somewhere,

a ghost cat stuck up an impossibly branched tree;

its non-stop crying across dimensions

for the you

who wants to be with me

can be heard right through Earths 1-42.

Syreeta Muir (she/her) has writing in Sledgehammer Lit, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Misery Tourism, The Daily Drunk Mag, Ligeia Magazine, The Blood Pudding and others. Her art has been featured in Barren Magazine, Olney Magazine, The Viridian Door, Rejection Letters and Bullshit Lit. She received Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations for her work in The Disappointed Housewife and Versification (2021/22)