“Are you Over Him?”

I think every connection leaves a hue on your brain,

like those left by stubby Crayola-marker-fingers groping white printer paper.

I think every attraction concocts a chemical reaction

that re-assembles my gray matter atom by atom.

We all have the genes we’re blueprinted with, but

our environment sends a dry-erase marker to highlight some and rub out others.

The giraffe, then, does evolve a longer neck by stretching,

just as I stretched towards you,


I still feel the strain in my back,

despite what my DNA says.

I picture my brain as a hunk of meat simmering in a bone pot,

and my loose wrist douses it in the chemicals of infatuations.

Sometimes it’s just a few drops, like food coloring.

Sometimes, it’s to marinate.

I strain out my brain to eat and

rinse twice.  It still tastes like everyone I’ve ever stared at.

**Another science-y poem with references to epigenetics and the theories of Lamarck.  After thinking about it though, the Lamarck stuff doesn’t perfectly make sense here.  I call it artistic freedom.  Give me a shout in the comments section if you want something explained!



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