In chemistry I pressed my hand into a bowl
Its contents hardened when I pushed my hand through
They called it a colloid, and it wasn't solid
Except under pressure; until then, it was soup.
You're like that colloid, all coiled in your bowl.
You look melty and kind from where I stand.
But when I reach for your heart
Your surface turns hard
And your heart needed reaching so bad!
my secret poetry stash
