Scientists pretend at
balance and logic.
But they harbour
an unruly
infatuation
with life.
If someone studied
for years
my freckles,
earlobes,
the way I click my tongue
when I am nervous,
I would have to admit
I had a groupie.
So it is with biologists
obsessing
over earth’s
faintest flutters.
Too shy
to admit
all their sober research
is just a cover
for love.
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