You are not a peace coming midst chaos and despair,
You are rare, and if there quickly disappear.
You are the fear of the fear, immemorial and earthreal
impossible to feel between the tides of insecurity
the shipwrecked nativity turned to the ashes of cynicism
And yet I lust for the echoes of those ashes,
But you are not in crashes of lips or slips of Aphrodite tongue,
You are an aria not to be sung, poem not crafted to write,
You shed no light on what I ache to know
Yet, I think, I would die if you should go.
My heart is an *****
Made of tissue
Made of cells
Made of molecules
Made of atoms
No love or heartbreak
I find echoes of you within me,
your savage, tender truths,
as if our blood had mixed,
as if our genes kissed.
I thought for a long time that I could forget you
but, I cannot.
To forget you would be to forget myself;
if I ever did I'd be someone else.
For as the infant's face mimics it's mother
you and I are like the other.
And though I have been orphaned,
a lost child of our connection,
my soul's chromosome remembers.