A Forlorn Request

A first request. Lydia Nicolas has asked for "a love poem for a cynical futurist - bonus points for buzzword bingo."

There's only one way to go with this. Maybe I'll try a sonnet, for that Elizabethan touch. Or maybe not.

[Excuse my note-scribbling. This is how I write.] 


Our love was first discovered by mistake.

A miracle, they said, like naught on Earth.

A graphene love. But what are we to make

Of this, this blackened accident of birth?

It's slippery, all surface and no side.

It transfers heat from one hand to the next, 

It's tough, it shines, it let's our failings slide,

It's speculative research at its best.

But graphene love's as hard as any matter,

And cutting as an atom's razor blade.

Its sharpness severs, causes those to scatter

Who, sadly, aren't miraculously made. 

We break apart and strive to find the cause.

Our bonds are strong, but deeper are our flaws.

And rather beautifully, Lyd arrived here on cue, to see the poem completed.