my heart aches to write
but my brain has bent my fingers to draw
on the memories of clinical words
and calculations of atoms
is this what Adam intended?
for his children to tear at themselves?
Eve did, after all, bite the fruit for the knowledge
that i now acquire
slowly
bite by bite
just as she did
is this my legacy?
inked and bleeding over pages of numbers
– not words –
passion reigned by clutches of logic
it hasn’t been all that practical, you know,
at least not yet.
maybe someday, soon, i will strike up and bond
over the excitability of our neurons
and it will all have been worth it.
but, so far, in moments of drowsiness,
i drift not to the likeness of our bodies
but the way they interacted
the way we connected
the most intimate parts
and maybe that is clinical
maybe one day i will understand Eve,
why she chose what she chose
and maybe that day is soon
because knowing the difference of our bodies
hurts more than knowing their likeness.
knowing you, knowing that longing,
it hasn’t been all that practical.
