I have heard that science teachers are being paid premium wages these days. I wonder if a poet who writes pseudo-scientific love poetry could qualify for a bit of a bonus... Doesn't matter anyway. No one in her right mind ever wrote a poem for the purpose of making money. So today I will post a love poem with a scientific turn.
Note: I started to say that the painting, titled, "Bicycle Without a Fish," has no more to do with this post than love has to do with science, but maybe my instincts were intact. Maybe they are both saying the same thing in different ways.
GEODE
Ours is a natural history;
if shattered,
our spectacular reactions
would glow.
My body knows instinctively
how you love me.
Every stone knows your hands,
how they think
about my waist.
Every wash knows the taste
of our kiss
open mouthed,
and the heat sweetly channeled
when your thumbs
trace the twin indentations
at the base of my spine.
One more time,
try to say
our love is a loose tooth,
hesitation a pale dream.
Out of time
we are a hollow song
grinding ourselves
against perfect rhyme.
Today is Sunday
and the sun has just set.
I say you can't hide
when a colorless moon
paints a hole in the sky.
I've known moisture,
I've known heat,
I've known radiating truth.
Break me open.
Break yourself.
We are all filled with crystals.
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