With each rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational.  
I look up at elm crocuses flinging their odor, climbing their trunk.  
Their air apparent. Also, I feel cleaner with you. Clearer of ignoble gases and flux. I do.  
Love is hell. Hell’s molecules will sue  
 
you — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —  
What a snit! Apart from our love I am ashamed now  
Breaking up with you feels like the flu ...  
You and I in radon decay — we hope — slow
approximations of my knuckling you.