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On a Titration
The drop slides
slowly through the pipette
and the acid blushes
gently.
We wait, and hope it stays
while the vaguest hint of pink
turns and extenuates
like a skein of silk
in the clear acid
as if it were glass.
Another drop.
Our breath is stilled.
Too much? Or not enough -
the pink is born and quickly dies.
This one last drop
rolls down the plastic pathway,
perfect, pearl-smooth
and touches the surface
like a lover.
A pale pink suffuses
the acid’s face.
...I've wanted to write this really badly for a while. It is supposed to be awful - I debated doing it in the self-conscious, I-am-writing-poetry style, complete with Os and thous, but then I was lazy.
The drop slides
slowly through the pipette
and the acid blushes
gently.
We wait, and hope it stays
while the vaguest hint of pink
turns and extenuates
like a skein of silk
in the clear acid
as if it were glass.
Another drop.
Our breath is stilled.
Too much? Or not enough -
the pink is born and quickly dies.
This one last drop
rolls down the plastic pathway,
perfect, pearl-smooth
and touches the surface
like a lover.
A pale pink suffuses
the acid’s face.
...I've wanted to write this really badly for a while. It is supposed to be awful - I debated doing it in the self-conscious, I-am-writing-poetry style, complete with Os and thous, but then I was lazy.
