The Blood

Love is only in the blood.
Only in the coiled mix of you and me
The sacrosanct heredity.

After the hot interval the altruism logarithm discards
You who would also be held. Men of letters
Numbers theories construct the game
And observing take your measure.

At the scales' ends we teeter like idiots:
The god of reciprocity doubles as an anarchist
Contemptuous of the calculus of cost and benefit.

But I will call your pleasure and raise you happiness
And cradle your face like a baby’s skull
And need nor oath nor ritual to know
Your eye is the oracle in which I see

A new little me.


© Rhett Talley