Ode to Nate, on This Day, the Day of His Birth

(Apologies to the writers of Star Trek: The Next Generation and of the episode "Schisms" in particular)

Nathan Poulsen is your familial nomenclature
Born to pursuers intellectual, scholarly by nature
Your studies physical, cor-por-ate, and chemical
Have confirmed to you some sulfamides are non-symmetrical

I find myself intrigued by your instant dormant status
When I scratch just right the spot of your muscle infraspinatus
And how you like to press the couch with your latissimi dorsi
to study anthropology ("Cops") and drink an eight-ounce pepsi

On unsuspecting females you have honed romantic talent
But your help with our consanguines small proves you to be gallant
And though I think they love me with their effervescent glee
On weekends they prefer a manly, congeneric knee

Oh Nate, I know that you are erudite, solicitous, and staid
yet the grecian inking on your forearm shows contumaciousness in spades
And though you must be gone a lot to New York up above
I nonetheless consider you my true and only love