Sum of the Delta of Nullity

because the lessons in dry physics seemed more pointless
  than my adolescent calculus of my obsession's breast
  through the second and third buttons of her blouses
  arcing open to the diffuse sacred secret
  that I plundered in those moments that my luck was
    neither mislaid nor lost ...
(
  after the first glances where I'd worn myself mad
    perfecting a peripheral focus
    chasing daydreams into and over
      the raptured edgelands of lace, umbra and interference

  and after the next glances where I'd worn myself warped
    from eidetic unpuzzling
      of her skin
    some elusive incantation
      in titanium white—5 parts holy
      yellow ochre—3 parts glory
      and profane tastes of cadmium red
)
... I drew letters in lust,
splicing coupled glyphs
all along the grid-ruled unruly spaces
of the dragging weeks and months

left hand in brutish posture
deforming my knuckle to a pencil-dent blister
and resting burnished sooted shiny
over page after page

... I drew letters in lust,
to fold into a thought that wouldn't persist
all along the weeks and months

organic angles of stems and strokes crossed
  arc and spine, loop swelling over the baseline
  descenders transgressing lobes
  flexed shoulders, skewed apertures
scripted ligature

... I drew silent as a shade
  in my fixation
having words for anything no one seemed to care about
and none for those urgent things
  that my anxious, agitated grasp found
  unbearable to either feel or not feel
  in terms of numbers neither rational nor real
I was reduced to a failure to find for
  force over distance over time

I'd learned even less than the incomplete I'd earned
between my weaponized mind
  and my obsession's breast
energy dissipated to merely heat
  tangled in wet dream sheets of rendered vandal poetry
becoming the sum of the delta of nullity