An Ode to the Möbius Strip

Long we travel across the bounds we view to
be limitless. On the loop we walk, we round
back to where we begin, having travelled
twice as far as we’d presumed. Time may be
so cruel, at instances. The allure of achirality,
absence of orientation, to dance with yourself
on the other side. Consistency,
indistinguishable; toss ephemerality to the
side, elegance lies within the evergreen.

Möbius, my darling, sweep through space.
I will leave my love in the form of scrawls
across your canvas. I will come back to read it
from the same surface as if it is your reply.