by Hannah Conway
She wrote me a poem
and I haven’t heard from you in weeks.
I started napping when I found out we only talk in my dreams.
I can figure out the product
of an Alkyl halide undergoing an E2 mechanism
and I know what happens when you brominate an alkene,
but your codes are beyond my comprehension.
Not to mention I never was very good with computers, would you
I’m trying to uninstall the feelings I have
when I think of you.
I’m tweezing your words from my circuit boards;
it’s painstaking work.
I promised myself I’d grow my hair
until I was finished—
until you were gone.
Just a few more inches.