Love is a thing,
it’s a substance
you can hold
in your hands
if you sift it
from the brain.
Love is a form,
an image held
in the mind
and impossible
to articulate.
Love is sex,
whores don’t
wonder about
and abstinence
abounds till
silenced by vows.
Love is human,
smelly, greedy,
lewd, fake, honest,
genuine, with all the
will and power
for heaven and hell.
Love is preservation,
the continuous
infinite persistence
to indulge in
the sheer blind
luck of being.


One thought on “Love

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