In mathematics,
an asymptote is a line

a curve approaches
without ever touching.

The distance decreases.
The pursuit continues.

The gap remains.

I think about this when people talk about sex
as something finite.

A thing completed.
A destination reached.

What interests me more
is the rare feeling
that another person
has continued arriving.

Year after year.

The body can memorize its choreography.
The sequence of movements.

The expected responses.
But intimacy seems to require

a different skill.
The willingness
to remain curious

after certainty becomes available.

To resist concluding
you already know
the person
beside
you.

The deepest forms of lovemaking
occur less often than people imagine.

Not because of a lack of desire.

But because devotion is difficult.
Attention is difficult.

Because most of us
eventually stop pursuing

the ever-expanding edge
of another consciousness.

The asymptote remains.

The distance narrows.
For a moment, you feel impossibly

close. Then you realize

if you are paying attention

there is more to learn.

Why would anyone want

the end of that story?