Chap book glued together with chapstick
Tripped a trap, a sarcastic slapstick
A poetic pie in the face palm
Words written all over her glances
Struggling to read them,
Squinting through double-vision
A tousled tease in contrast to downy DNA
Syllables unable to capture what I’d say
If a sonnet is any sort of accomplishment
If I had synesthesia, if I was an actual genius
If there wasn’t this separation between us,
A strange frisson, a déjà vu- have we met yet?
In a dream of a molecule, potent and wide,
vast as the chasm of your possible mind.