Three Mile Island
#1 of Poetry
A love poem? Or perhaps a poem of longing. The powers that rend the fingertips from their slumbers, to pass over the partner in crime. That is what this is about.
The pattern of your breathing,
A tattoo into the aether
That splits apart the tapestry of night
When I sit awake beside you.
I, in the glow of my digital altar,
While you do dream intricate fables
That spiral down and into fantasy;
I, in the glow of my world unreal
Do want to reach beneath your heart
And enter in to vistas brillig.
Oh, curse these mortal forms!
They keep us separated at lengths;
Even when we attempt a congress
And craft ourselves into an ersatz whole--
No, even then we are in twain.
The closest I may ever reside
To that thrumming, drumming power plant
Built behind your buttresses of bone
Is to lay my head upon your chest
And listen.
Ta-tum ta-tum.
Ta-tum ta-tum.
I listen as the passcodes of plethoras of genomes
Unzip themselves to reveal within
The gentle whispers of emotion,
The delicate spirits of desire.
Oh, lend me your power, allow me a cell
Lest I rend from you the cores in whole
And leave you darkened in the eyes;
Let me not become to you the nuclear fallout.
Instead, I vow to flow about you--
Cooling, calming waters, circling, circling,
Rippling round your atomic nature--
Holding you but never touching you
Oh my Chernobyl.
Oh, my Three Mile Island.