You're beautiful
in your suit and tie,
grey on powder blue,
powder blue on maroon.

You listen to words
all day, important,
data spilling out your
ears onto lab coats.

Memos and faxes and
all sorts of outdated
machines that work
to a very fine extent.

You're sad, entombed
with solubility charts
and worshiping cations,
anions, piles of books.

Sometimes I make you
miss me, tapping a pencil
while the big steel sinks
make shadowy dripping noises.

Mostly you're just there,
where I can keep you in my mind,
picturing you among the wilderness
you've chosen for yourself.

You make me ramble,
make me dissect, make me
calculate and watch
for the bottom of the meniscus.

I want to make inappropriate
advances towards you and
technology in the name
of chemistry and the body.

Pour hazardous acids on
your eyes and walk to the
emergency shower with you,
newly blind.

You make me find romance
in Bunsen burners and
old pictures of Niels Bohr,
and there is Au in the darkest places.

05/19/2003

Posted on 05/20/2003
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