your face dissolves into the liquid crystal display and swims in my eyes
towards Brodmann’s area nineteen. somewhere deep in my prefrontal cortex, a thought is born: this is love without walls.
without form. generating action potentials, firing neurons, shooting voltage of pleasure down my spine
curling toes in delight.
love is a virulent
strain. overpowering T-cells and
humoral immunity, it leaves me defenseless, walls down.
in between us. only
a thin membrane
and orphan receptors
in spaces filled with