Somehow, a mitochondrion wormed its way
Into our native beast, and, having found shelter,
We have twisted it to our liking,
Harvesting its life energy,
Binding it to ourselves
Like an indentured child
Harvesting the boundless sunlight
For a wizened mole.
Those walls have long since dissolved,
But part of us still seeks
The primitive new,
The strange echo of mutation,
The protean coil,
That entwines alien virtues.
But for every meld there is a sever,
How can I embrace you
If we have become one?
And for every sever there is a mending.
And so we spin and part our helix
Until end becomes beginning.