Four-Letter Poems, take two

We sought a permanent recombination,
a final overwriting
of the double helix that defined me,
but I wasn't enough of a geneticist
(nor of a writer) for the
art of four-letter poems.

So we hacked to
pieces my nucleotide
bonds, we attached
and removed strings of
memories from my life's album
as if undecided on what to wear -
but, my love,
we never had any sense of
beauty.  

My chromosomes, carved as a testament
to all of our surgery sessions,
became a festival of restriction
enzymes' reactions, of when
we tore my consciousness'
nucleobases away from their seats
to fit the new occupants
of my old self.

And I see you now, my love,
through truth-telling eyes.
I never was enough of a geneticist
for the art of four-letter poems
and you unmade and
rebuilt me just to
show that you were.
The beauty and wonder of my
nitrogenous base sequences, you
picked your best restriction
enzymes to dismember
it, stating
"We're doing this for you."

You always knew plasmids
never look back, yet
you let their induced toxicity
insert itself everywhere
and affect my phenotype so, so
carelessly.

And change cascaded as
a spreading cancer -
irreversible. All
those four-letter
poems you unmade, they
coiled and hissed in
anger, in newfound
hate for you.

And I was never enough of a
writer to tell you, but
they made me one now.