Your desktop background nods to computer algorithms
Bookshelves filled with organic chemistry and complex physics.
A tree grows in your room, in honor of your alma mater
And when you play music, you dissect wavelengths, patterns,
deciphering art into a scientific formula, to woo.

The stars are only stars to me, but to you they are
gaseous entities, the beauty of a nonexistent god.
You are not an angel, yet your golden hair forms a halo
like the Vitruvian man, a perfect image of evolution
in the man who worships Hawking and blesses science.

When you tell me about string theory and distant galaxies
I am too awed, too ignorant to speak your language.
The numbers and letters get jumbled in my head, but you tell me
that’s okay. Somehow I understand the simple symbols that matter –
the chemical reactions when you tell me, “you’re a genius”
the compounds of how your skin feels against mine.
In the end you created a formula simple enough to understand—
The coded brilliance of your love is the equation of us together.

This poem is included in The Sophomore Year Experience poetry compilation.


About Amy

Amy is a freelance writer and artist based in LA. Her hobbies include romanticizing her world, having too many moody thoughts, and wandering through neighborhoods she's never been in.
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