a poem about love
without metaphors
is just an empty mailbox
at the end of a long driveway
that hasn't been opened
in a very long time.
inside of that mailbox
is a very long letter
describing the advancements
in the discovery of
the structure of
everything.
also inside the mailbox
past the letter
and past a spidery web
littered with exoskeletons
is the portal to
another universe.
rosalind closed her eyes
for once to black and not to molecular models.
it was all that she could say,
quietly and without
judgement or reservation,
"the salt of deoxyribose nucleic acid."
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