Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Love in the Time of Climate-Changing Psychobiology

You're frigid. 
I am a desert rose.
Play, repeat:
I'll listen to the songs, but
Cognitively dissuade reason.
My ears won't hear 
Clashing sounds.

Reasons, bitter almonds 
Cyanide in the brain;
Atrophied sea-horses;
We are murdered incrementally
By stress.

Stress, the little pressures as
We take on more and more,
And share less,
Only winter smiles upon those
Who are cold.

And now, it is spring.

I must not wait on a decision already made
Love is a drug; every time we touch 
Oxytocin, vasopressin; and more. 
There is violence in deliberate asynchrony.
We share evenings of hope
Until they are evenings of injury.
Aren't we healers? 

Let us not breed despair. 
I will say that there is something 
oddly self-aware
In studying operant conditioning,
Whilst being operantly conditioned
By your hot-then-cold stares,
Agile fingers; meticulously meted out words.
Indecisive affection. 

This is chemical, as chemical as 
Every grain of sand and flake of 
tightly squeezed ice.
Desert rose, frigid oak,
Neither is a stranger to emotions. 

I forget that even as
The desert sun scorches,
The desert night has frozen 
Many a thirsty soul.
And so a strange attraction lies 

Yes, it lays within me
The dishonest draw.
It's an easy delusion:
Our icy words aren't so cold when we
Share our blankets, sweaters, scarves.

I'll calm myself
For this is a forgiving world: 
with truthful lies, and good thieves;
And endless seas, 
Which give rise 
to not just 
the desert rose,
but also the frosty ice. 

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