A Chemistry Lesson On Love

Love making

What we don’t do inside fabric,
And do in light and dimmed interiors,
A child grows up to learn that love
Is just a toy in early summer,
An entire season on itself, thereafter,
When the stubborn gaze, and the open lip,
Conspire to let lip-twigs fire, as often
As the winds would permit,
And that season, it erodes fabric
Like scattering top soil, and collapses
The here, the now, the form,
The indelible smudge that in essence,
Is nothing short of a chemical opus,
Of steric atoms upon boned scaffolds,
Folded into an amorphous mold
Of a racemic mixture, the moan
Accentuating the overkill of the moment,
Little death dropping like a kite
From the sky. The chemical reaction
Was now over. The scaffolds lean unto themselves,
While atoms reconfigure, to their
Own chirality, knowing the heart
Stockpiles the catalyst – we call love -,
Enough for longer than a perpetuity,
Of fiery chemical combustion.

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