Calor
The warmth of your hands
Everts all my glands
Where each humor lands:
Pheromotions, rendered, are fanned
.
Dolor
Painfully aware, am I, of you
Woefully wan, am I, to you
Waywardly far, go I, for you
Longingly drawn, am I, to you
.
Rubor
Red-hot pokers are my bones
Pulverizing my dogged stones
My fever, refractory, defiantly shown
To defervesce, clichés, overblown
.
Tumor
I swell with grace and pride
And knell gratitude in stride
Come hell or worse, implied
I call you to my side
.
Restore
Love's injuries are real
Distracting 'gainst appeal
Inflames are lacteal
Purge painful heat, red swells — unsealed
______________
Author's Note: Inflammation, after an injury, poetically associated here with the injuries lovers sometimes inflict, has the following hallmarks, clinically: Calor (heat), Dolor (pain), Rubor (redness), and Tumor (swelling). I added a fifth, "Restore," for while inflammation has all of these negative aspects, it is, in reality, the initial stage of healing. Healing from love's inuries is not exception.
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
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My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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Comments (3)
Inflammation is a double edged sword, we need it to live and it can kill us too. Like love, this infernal double edged sword. Well said.
Whoaaa, this really put things into perspective for me! Your explanation was so deep and beautiful!
Marvelous work