3am upon a mattress sees the hands approach a figure so significantnConverging on a curvenBut she's not your standard deviant 'cos our bizarre love polygon has morphed intonThe fractal shape of lurvennAs we share in a dim sim, a tree will shade our flirty lip tickleni trip on the square root of minus onenThough pi's not so oblique a thing, with a pencil, pin and piece of stringnThat old familiar ring can soon be wrungnnJust measure your way around the circumference of any circlenThen divide it by its diameter and thence, find it lurkingnIn the work you would do defining it's true sense of infinitynYour digits touch the sky with pi.....nnA fraction of her is not the answer, like a statue's not a dancernShe's a whirling dervish dining on red cordial and twistiesnYou may insist she's difficult, but don't dither as you slither down that river to forevernTo quiver in the endless Rumba, sleeping ceaseless slumbern'Cos it's then she has your numbernnI think people who like pi are cutenTheir lives are full, they have a ballnSo people who hate pi are square and flatnAs a tan gent who co-signs obtusely into sex at randomnThe right angles formulaic lines attract