Big News! Big News!
It was in Time Magazine and in The New York Times-so,
it must be fact,
it must be true,
it must be news.
It was thought to be mere mythology (like religion), but
science with its massive objective intellect,
science has deemed it is worthy of study, and
science has discovered love exists.
Apparently, love was waiting for a microscope and a legion of
biophysicists and neurochemists to probe and prove.
Oh yes, it's finally tested, just what we were waiting for:
Physical Science uncovered love this week
found it worthy to examine, dissect, bisect, and validate,
pursued the electro-chemical reflexes of infatuation,
stood distant and objective,
counted endorphins,
measured limbic activity,
declared hormones to be itching to send flowers, and
proved chromosomes etch genetic code with an urgent need
to buy bonbons for a beau.
Come my beloved, toss out that poetry and tear up Wuthering Heights.
Who needs fictive literature when we have the logical truth of science?
The same dear, adored, trusted, and true science who informed us
(just last Thursday) of the astounding inconclusive,
but reliable, finding:
Men and Women are Different.
Oh yes, it's finally statistically shown, just what we were yearning for:
Social Science discovered love this week
found that out of 166 cultures studied,
147 can clearly identify patterns unique to romantic activity
indicating a cross-cultural phenomenon with evolutionary
implications predefined by natural selection.
Science fit lust into carefully controlled stimulus-response studies.
Science proved my lust for you is genetically predetermined.
Culturally, our dating behavior is operant conditioning; a classic case,
but way beyond the sphere of ordinary knowledge.
What did I do without this enlightenment from science?
What did I know?
I never did graduate work.
I never wrote a thesis.
(I wrote a couple of real long unsubstantiated love poems,
but I never cited my sources.)
I was an utter failure at the study of love.
I never asked why your scent makes me salivate and
your voice makes me so so very very wet.
Somewhere in Bora Bora,
beneath the aura of the aurora borealis,
Elizabeth Barrett Biologist writes in her notebook,
for the record
for analysis:
How does he love she,
let me count the ways...