You told me you would write a poem for me today,
But you never got around to it.
It’s been that way for a week now.
But I’m not upset.
Our love is hard to tie down with words.
You call me babe,
Not honey, or sugar, or sweetheart.
Those words of bitter-sweetness
Never drip like dulcet poison from your lips.
Your passion is numbers,
If you could write a poem in measurements,
You could gauge the love of a lifetime.
Heartbeats defined as infinity plus one.
It’s love to the nth degree.
It was chemistry.
What is a mole?
I never understood that concept.
You told me it’s a way of measuring,
Like a dozen.
An amount of an element.
But how can you measure our love in numbers.
It’s simply not elementary.
That’s why you can’t write me a poem.
You can’t figure out a way,
To measure your words.
Author's Note: Oh my goodness, this poem was written 25 years ago. How is that possible? I wrote it for one of my favourite Lit classes in University. Came across it in one of my old binders as I prep my eldest to head off to college. I see I liked played with words and meaning even back then. I guess some things never change.