Satya Dash

LOVER'S DISCOURSE AFTER A HISTORY OF CHEMICAL REACTIONS

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while I’m sober let me document

that I wanted to make you        a classical frequency of me

you         whose orbs of stardust

                           when clasped right

               simmered oases cinching arid midlands tight

was I was born to fantasize        I wasn’t told

                        but ions conspire in complications beneath      I was

& for the sake of our chemistry       if I must catalogue

                        how you interrupt energy         & how it’s yours to claim

                                         & how you reside on a ridge        

                        where slender things run

                                         & how from you springs the reassurance        

                        of alkali & dusk sun

 

 

then your beauty somewhat is your tremulous leaps

  but still more how you shoot electrons     to keep stars rooted in belief

in epidermal pleasure I landed here       tears hibernating back into brain

          you slid on my silence         signs tumbling down my paunch

                        raking my inertness in heaps

                          listen I’m used to beauty         but not resonance

                            my story is gunmetal hard        I only became echo

                              when God sublimated me         from diffident stone

 

 

now in the sleight of atomic sight       I’m just a knot of malignant light

your blinking nucleus         house bulb flickering in somnolent height

              firefly of bioluminescence        hewing us bright

                                  in quantums of primitive flight

this entropy of heritage          will it save us some neonness

lessons leave scriptures          through ravishing acid         & blaring base

all that is left:        I can’t even see       

                              your blossoming mole        on my neck’s narrow vase

all that is left:             see for yourself―      

                                                                             our surviving salt’s heft