science cannot explain the butterflies that migrate down my oesophagus to gift springtime into my acidic stomach; cannot explain the stars that explode in my skull; cannot explain how a soft breath can turn my ribcage into melting candle-wax; cannot explain how electricity can be transferred through half a second's eye contact—!

we were women of science. then you flipped my world upside down. you told me that every fruit was once a mother's womb. you told me that every piece of dust was once a star and every star is a setting sun. outside in, downside up, i'm barely holding on— my love, why isn't gravity doing its job?