science poem

i don’t know much about science--but you do, so when you teach me the equations that turn the universe, how tight lines of code compile in twisting helices—it’s just sort of numbers and stuff. But I think I can understand the science of how you are the amino acids in my cells the building blocks of life, how you are my atmosphere, the PV = nRT increasing the pressure, decreasing the volume accelerated particles rattling against my sternum. you are the current through my veins, and I want to be the magnetic field curling around you (like the fingers of your right hand winding delicately through mine.) and we are the fundamental opposites electricity and magnetism, science and song, inevitably and infinitely intertwined, you are my poetry. you are the current through my veins the moving charges across my synapses, filling the spaces between atoms with oxytocin building like a charging capacitor resistance climbing to infinity, grinding my world to a halt. you are my flux and I want to be the current fighting the things that change you and together our wires will sing the paradox-not-paradox of musical tesla coils. by the way, “the steps to making a transformer? one, chop down a telephone pole.” laughter punched out of me by the force of you against my gut, I am falling and falling and falling, and you are the force of gravity pulling me down, the drag pushing me up, increasing with every moment I hold you force times time is your impulse changing my momentum the positives to negatives velocity back and forth, spiraling into a vortex that rips the air from my lungs and leaves me dizzy.