Memory mothered me. my father married a bloom.

Bloom theory: twin stems branching like thriving arteries.

Artery action means I appreciate you more within proximity.

Proximity invites six degree friends to celebrate your birth; I google verse vs hymn? 

Hymns? Form-letter hagiographies will vote like your Instagram: Face

Face it: the horizon harmoniously forming a helix. I’m just a geneticist.

Genetic symbolizes hereditary love. My father was an authentic houdini.

Houdini fathered me. He thrives in his eternal clarity.

Clarity is a type of birth. Life seeps from my carotids.

Carotids? I bloody-throat. Hemodialysis-tubes  threading to ties.

Tie theory: you tied yourself to a lifeline named love.

Love is memory. Memory hovers between acknowledgement and voice.

A voice is a symphony of notes. To voice is a sonnet. So, what's next?

Now, my father shines as sunlight: self as salve-solidarity.

Solidarity? I hold the pen, inhale inspiration: peace paramedic.

Paramedics can revive the spirit: your freedom, your collaboration.

Question: could you love me enough to stay and always remain?

Remain ever-present and constant. The proximity is always the forgiveness.

Forgiveness? Try cartography. A landscape is a monument to its healing.

Healing thread me into a hymn named son. Or was it a verse?

Verse: you always will be my son — your Instagram DM, hymn of vanity.

Vanity is a reflection. Tell me. Which self do you see in my resurrection?

Resurrection mothered me. You bulls-eyed your cradle, our infinite z:

Z-chromosomes, zealous-husband, zealous-father, zealous-son revered in X-axis.

X-axis is horizontal spread, is we're believers, all imagining you zoom-

zoomed, piously forged your path to heaven. But I honor memory.

Memory mothered me. My father married a bloom.