I think it is science, or art, or nature?
maybe there is no difference,
but when it works, it is beautiful.
Not like kittens in a basket,
but like a Mandelbrot set;
intricate, nuanced and perfectly balanced.

it is the balance that is my undoing.

In the beginning I was meant to hold her close.
gentle, warm and welcoming.
until that welcome and warmth reached
all the way inside her.
Like charging a battery for the first time.
but nothing comes from nothing,
and I ran dry.
too soon.

So now she wears my damage
like a wound, an accusation,
a plea.
and I want to make her whole,
but giving feels like punishment.
Like I have to choose; who will get
this oxygen? her or me?
and will everything I have ever be enough?
to fill either of us?