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Hans Bethe

He said I lost my spice.
The kind that metaphorically exists
when little girls become sweet
and enter puberty for their round hips
and razor sharp tongues.
My oomph.
My electric glow invisible in
orbs, its aurora tingling into
goose bump nerve endings.
My je ne sais quoi,
the essential me that categorically bursts
unevenly, its disruption a force
that kept scientists mad in the lab.
He said I lost my              self
my dark being thrust down a deep rabbit hole
where I was much
He said I lost a part of the x factor
the human chromosome of me, drowned in nothing-less
genes misplaced in a million of blood cells.
He said I lost my spice
my oomph
je ne sais quoi
x factor.
In a time reserved from point A to point B
I wonder where the muchness was
taken to derive at the result
of x - c ?

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