The Physics of Love

I wonder how I see you at all
when I walk into a room.
The emptiness inside you
between molecules of skin,
Is the space between stars.

The smallest part of you is quarks.
Top or bottom, up or down,
charmed or strange, locked
in a kind of orbit, but never staying
in one place.
No wonder you are out of focus.

Inside you, magnetic fields shift and spin,
a crazy dance of violent tides,
free from the cycles
of any moon.
It confuses the hell
out of the stuff
that holds me together.

There is so little of us,
in all this nothing.
What gives love
enough weight to be named?