Dopamine

I want to love you mathematically, tracing the lengths of your body in inches and centimeters; graphing the rhythms of your heartbeat in a spiky, sensical line. The wavelengths of your movements Organized in safe, logarithmic patterns; I want to memorize the surface area of your skin, and know it as my own. This, I understand. I want to love you scientifically, with a typed-up single-spaced report of your actions and reactions. To examine the calcium whiteness of your teeth and know it as fact, not fiction. Your eyes may be the clearest blue I've ever seen, but the pigmentation is normal in the grand scheme of things. You are not an anomaly. Numbers and chemicals bring you down to size, rip you from the pedestal I've placed you on and ground you once again.