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,
Yes:
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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