In here are beakers, frail and clear
In here are flasks, large and small
I often light a burner and distil
Yet not catch and condense
The fumes of regret some choices bring
I have often sought
How much can I burn, hear, boil
Yet the answer is ways lost
Each test is new, each unique
Yet each needs me to pluck my heart
Of late I see it willing and wanting
To be ground to a wispy powder
It could be easy, it has been mended
The seams can come off at a nudge
So another chance has arrived
I have hesitated to take
But in the cold winter night
I choose to go at it,
warm my heart in a flask
Distil and let the scent of you
Fill my room as I feel you drift apart
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