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June 15, 2009, 3:28 a.m.

I believe in the religion of Science, the philosophy of Medicine. I believe in the ordered dance of an electron as he soft-shoes into a rousing p-orbital. I believe in the chair confirmation of Carbon and the infernal volatility of Magnesium when you slap that bitch across the face.

I believe in the consistency of punnet squares, the squirrelly underdog mentality of the recessive gene. Chance, she may be a dirty, dice-throwing whore popping her knuckles at the back of the percentage line, but she is still there, fast on paper. Give me an equation for this, this… Show me the solution set that led me to you.

I believe in compartmentalization, this splitting of the halves so that the whole may survive. Because I also believe in rapid-fire nose-kissing and can’t-catch-your-breath schoolgirl giggling. I believe that cuddling should be categorized as a full-contact sport with yearly conventions and free raglan t-shirts. I believe there should be trophies involved.

I also believe that mix-tapes and pilfered song lyrics will always make the best love letters. I believe that some stories are best told without the finicky temperament of modern language. I believe that some oral histories are best shared without words.

I believe in kissing. I believe in teeth. I believe in skin.

And so I ask that you come to my door, a knee-scraping sinner and wrest my control to the floor. Sew my halves together; follow the roadmaps etched into my thighs. Rest your open book upon my chest, and watch as I shove my hands deep into my pockets, digging for some scrap of a rational explanation. I will come up grasping, bare-fisted, with decryption code carved into my palms. You will push your truth hard against my dare; my eyes will turn to the skies for an explanation. My X, she will slam into your Y on the nearest side of the parallel lines while a question’s constant wavers on the furthest. I will divide my halves by your whole. I will splinter. I will spill.

Flash. Bang. Pow.

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