Isomer

My love dissipated into the stagnant night. The element of hope dissociated, evaporating, Nebulized by the lungs. In great heaving gasps and salty residuum, It left me Over the hours, the weeks, the years you did not come. Thickly the remainder condensed within me, A molasses of ichor. Of the godly blood of infants, still untouched, still golden. Like honey crystalizing and darkening. My love could find no purchase, no home, no return With nowhere to go, it came to be grief. My grief could not leave me Could not run through my blood The way that love did. It trudged dutifully Sweeping across the lumen laboriously, painfully. My grief could not leave me But it's stay was equally untenable For a living thing, unsustainable, insatiable. So the body, in self preservation Pooled its surfeit humors, it's vinegar To dilute the congealed state. It buzzed and burned as sluggish poison tempered Melting under smooth hydroxyl ideals of fairness and fault. Visions of transcendental creatures making right. Anger put the power back in my bones And clung like the rabid dog. Love cannot leave you, not truly. It changes shape, changes chemical composition But it is always in living. It can always be made pure again. It doesn't need to hurt You don't need to let it.