rationalizations

I can't believe all the veins you've got
inside you. I mean,
I don't know but I'm forced
to suppose. I never should've watched
those surgery shows. Organs
and muscles and tendons
and blood all through,

it gets everywhere
it's allowed to go

and somehow it makes
up you.

Such realizations

are starkly at odds

with impressions I've gleaned
from your oohs and ahs
and your sage insights,
and your satisfactions.

Your impulsive remarks,
surprising reactions
- your tells and shows.

The feeling in you, how
it ebbs and flows
through the webs and the nets
and tissues and flesh
and blood and skin
and makeup and clothes

as all of it breathes
and feels, and glows.
I believe

I sound like a psychopath!
I shouldn't have watched
those surgery shows.

I never do think of you
clinically. It doesn't add up

to all you begin to be,
or begin to explain
why you're into me,

considering all of my guts
and veins and blood
and brains

in this symphony, we
together conduct
in sympathy.