Thermo (Apr.2015)

Perhaps it is delusion to think I am destined to be alone,
That every corporeal intertwine is nothing
More than a second of sparkless friction—
A brush of shoulders amid the clutter & scatter of 7th & H Street,
When all this time, there may combustable embers sitting in the depths of my messenger bag
Stirring their molecules of time until there are enough romantic joules
To render me molten instead of singed.

  
Perchance her embers are burning too,
Glimmering in her back pocket
While men whistle at her from across the street
With breath so gelid it makes 70 degrees feel like frostbite and crusting skin. I want be magma,
Scorched by amour fou,
So I can rush through the cracks of the bustling sidewalks,
And arrive by the arm of her chair as she sips her morning coffee,
For the zeroeth law states—two systems each in thermal equilibrium with a third system
Are in thermal equilibrium to each other