It is like cold, Love is... finding with precision any exposed parts.
It is like heat, Love is... a siren song of warmth sung to frozen land.
It is like stillness, Love is... the quiet space of birds mid-flight.
It is like dark, Love is... in it's night, the moon burns bright and clear.
It is like light, Love is... pink musing of daybreak unfolding into afternoon.
It is like water, Love is... floating currents swirl downstream.
It is like breath, Love is... instinctual rhythm of in and out, in and out . . .
What a beautiful poem. Yes. Love is all that you have written here. And, when it dies, it is like the brown leaves on the ground: rotting, yet quietly turning into the fresh soil and new ground of future, spring-like joy.
ReplyDeleteStay warm!
--M