To
utter love, a forbidden word, is to utter love. So bland
the
love when love is bland. But what of love, a feral love,
lunging
into past and future. I love you becomes a terror
beautiful;
where tea intoxicates, sanded by injustice. So
love
it freely, ignoring walls, up-close and fately distant.
We
grieve and gnaw a fabulous curse, forgiven all for love.
So
flawed our nature, nearly perfect, perfected in love.
To
feel you misunderstood, fully understanding, needing
love.
I pace and pause, for all can see, and some to love
as
deep as me. But ours is fate, a fated love. We fall to
rise,
and rise to live, acquitted for love. What is such love,
such
fruitful love, touched with ache, and touched with
love.
Its life to woe, and woe to life, a brilliant storm. We
kick
to pull, alert to scars, moving fast and doubting not.
So
heart to wave, a sanded slate, to till for love.
