Assumptions of Oppenheimer

The zoom on the lens. Touch. The catalyst. Fermenting. In docile ignorance. Love is arbitrary. Poker hands. Betting on the dealer's threats.

I don't think I have ever been. Close enough to heaven. To know whether or not it might exist. The ratchet clicks. Deviations. The future pretends to know who we are becoming.

The fairy tale between her legs tells of princes. But her underwear tells of plain men. Teasing swords too dense to pick up. The cavern opens to low moons and thick forest. She says.

That's the way it is.

Love comes with a stopwatch. I run too slowly.