sounds like a very poetic word.
You did not agree.
Because you found nothing poetic about the sulphuric acid scar at the base of my left thumb.
I promised not to make my poem ordinary,
So that you could smuggle in the few words between your equations of alcohols, reacting with carboxylic acids, to give ester.
And it would smell like Amortentia.
Something that you lovr
I stole your laboratory notebook from the school
Because I would not let anyone tear off it pages for extra helpings of copper turnings or nitrate salt.
Or ruin your petite writing with droplets of ferrium sulphate solution.
I would not let the dust settle on your brown cover,
Or the faded photograph of us inside the third flap of my wallet.
I stared for days on the single smudge of ink on your chromatography paper
And thought of how you found my fascination with ink, amusing,
You did not know, what also fascinated me was,
How your face smelled like the autumn rains, and benzaldehyde. Crushed almonds.
You said chemicals kept you alive.
How you lived for the two moles of dioxide and three moles of potassium;
How the blue veins in yours and the green in mine took in the same oxygen and joined haemoglobin to keep our hearts beating,
I also then said, that you keep me alive.
The pink stains from permanganate on your coat is the background to my canvas.
But it is only now I sometimes see,
There is no more white left.
I only see the whites of the diphenhydramine in my sleeping tablets
And the whites of the back of my eyes the day I do not take them and feign sleep 6 hours straight.
Certraline and fluvoxamine scorge the back of my tongue,
Also the memory of your classifying them as anti-depressants does the s huame.
When you had said my words would dissolve and disappear like zinc granules in hydrochloric acid,
I promised not to make my poem ordinary.
And it is chemicals which me alive now, too.
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