Hopeless Romantic Chemist

I have a pH of seven.

Neutral, like H2O.

Sometimes a drifting cloud

waiting for the wind to blow.

Sometimes cold as solid ice

when times and temperatures are low.

But mostly I flow

in a liquid state,

sliding around in disorder, I await

you. You’re Potassium.

Await your methodical extraction,

dreaming of what textbooks describe your touch as an ‘explosive reaction’.

I’ve lost some of my Hydrogen, so desperate to bond.

But you leave me for Chlorine, of whom you’re so fond.

Blind to her greenness, her electro-negative ways,

though she knows what she wants, stability she craves.

And I am a compound, ever-changing-

my surroundings ranging

from the formula of tears that wash away sorrow,

to the predicted happy summer showers of tomorrow.