They say that lightning strikes are one in a million.
Then how is it that every time
you hold my hand
or stare into my blushing face,
that a jolt,
of pure electricity
runs through our shared connection,
bound in tiny intricacies in our veins,
restless in our hearts,
I would love to believe that,
that lightning only strikes at impossible odds-
but I can't,
not while I am touching you;
my own heart is a live wire and jumping into my throat
with the raw voltage
coursing through me-
and belies the science I know
will disagree with me.
It can never know
the passion of traveling at love's breakneck speed
believing in someone else,
trusting them to catch you when you burn up
or to push you up when you can't remember the light.
It could never know the terrible loss of energy
when the one you love hurts,
speared by insensitive sparks.
It could never know
life in all its tiny fractured facets,
believing that one answer is all that is needed-