Faraway gusts; impetuosity. A lasting rot. A steep incline—an unending mountain. To have claimed love, it should be analyzed. One with fancy. Another with penalty. Smothered graces; fevered battles. Someone hast to believe essence. It couldn’t be what means so much; it mustn’t be what tends to frighten. To analyze love in different estates: the wildness two would share. So accustomed to nuances, distressing self into beliefs, to have gone so deep, such raw normality. Life is more than skepticism, not nearly deontological, somewhere between Confucius and Sun Tzu … one will be mother, another will be father. A soul will feel pushed—from alpha to omega—it might let up … two truly inclined, more than—in between times. We remember Thich Nhat Hanh. Love is a system made of parts, two walk together, side by side, tackling each principle. It amazes what two may share—those secure points, ever challenged … those insecurities—ever nurtured. Maybe esoteric at first. Systematic during disputes. Sexual and scientific. Religious humanism. Bossy. Demanding. Reciprocative. The challenge of it all. Electrified. Volts, asphalt, ever looming in some direction. Far too nuclear to exhaust. Just touching, then listening, on a topic, that is. While it makes impression, souls look at each other and smile. Fierceness. Receiving and manipulating through what was given. No one imagined … folks often say. Closer captions. Bolder knowingness. A glance. Even odors and humanness.
