When I look at you laying there
across the way from me
behind the curtains of a friday
afternoon, I wonder how it is that
you,
you are just a handful of billions of cells.

Something that I can pick apart and put back together.
You, a human with one heart
and two hands
and ten fingers
that I’ve fallen in love with
all at separate times.

Only that.
A handful of cells.

You,

are a textbook of our
chemistry.

Let me put your laugh in a petri dish
so that I can see if what we have
has a heartbeat,
if the cells between us
dance
like we did that evening
when you slid your arm
around the small of my waist
and kissed me
with your eyes closed.

Let me see
if there’s a definition
in the way you love me
without loving me
with words.