You need a scent, a beehive, a hornet empire.
Life trains us; Love seems cold.
Executive suits, piercing boots, Love is living.
Love is creative, a great passion, fueled by banter, jesting when it hurts.
A dear need, behind curtains, hurting in defenses—so
Electric—to keep it hidden.
Knowing psyches, entering by stealth.
10 toes into it. Five senses dedicated to it. Wounded.
It means nothing. Lost on a motive.
To cater to him; looking at him: he never had understanding.
With prose making miseries, with time in fantasies, with power at waist level.
To imagine if one was gentle, if one tried harder, we all need this.
Back to anxieties: both parties; with age making pains sophisticated.
