L'appel du Vide

I could write a poem

about the way her nose crinkles

when it presses against the sheets—

but a physicist told me that things

don’t actually touch,

they just have electromagnetic

interaction.

It’s a little unsettling

to think of the people you love

as only atoms and that void,

like maybe all you ever really love

is nothing.

But even though she is mostly nothing

and sometimes something, I am

still insanely vertigo(ne).

It’s that primal anomaly:

when confronted with an infinite

Nothing,

all a person yearns to

hungers and thirsts for

lusts after can’t resist the temptation to

jump in.

And if she is mostly nothing

And if I am mostly nothing

And if I look on her and need nothing, then

the next time I see her, I’ll beg:

Let me dive into your dark places.

Let me taste the gap between your

atoms. I can fill your spaces.