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Each kiss, bestowed upon my lips by yours,
Is a snowflake that gently falls upon the nose
Of those whose senses transcend sensitivity.

Each portrays a subtly unique permissivity,
an impression of an intricately sewn piece of lore,
accredited to those far older than anyone I've known.

Falling from a place we cannot see,
Each congeals, concealed en masse upon
A humble ground of incandescent tranquility,
Or, melting, flows away in a sweetly matchless elegy.

Ah, priests of science say what I feel is complex chemistry,
With jointless hands that make, of nature, clever mockery.
I doubt that they shall ever find your truth with minor inquiry,
Or explain any love embodied by a snowflake’s deep complexity.