LOVE, SCIENCE
I am the gridlines thrown onto your lover’s back by streetlight diffraction through window blind slits. I am the machine coils of nucleic acid locked into your hands as you pause, mid-caress, to write equations on your partner’s upper thigh. I am the best-fit approximation to your father’s dead eyes and hard belt, the cost-benefit analysis before Hiroshima. I am the drone strikes you would order if you were President, the pop tune you can’t get out of your head while you’re having sex with your wife’s best friend. I’m also the filtered sunlight through trees lighting the heads of ducks as you and your children sit on a park bench. You and everyone you love are tethered to a respirator I made, cared for by doctors I trained in a hospital I own. Let me know when you want to pull the plug.
KENAN INCE