OF LOVE…
Our dance resembled the unstructured ecstasy,
In spite of and before foreshadowed love,
Whose steps mimicked young emotions that could not comprehend
one beat,
so we continued to dance but pushed our hearts into a
dispassionate retreat,
reveling in the sweet,
unbridled rituals of unpretentious lust…
In our crusade to rarefy passion from what men called love,
we found that, (for the present at least), lust far better
suited us,
until love could cultivate a more substantial history to
quote,
for now, love’s potential seemed presumptuously remote,
so we worshiped what we felt and let it choreograph our way,
There was no more philosophically rewarding exercise to crown
these days,
than when we consumed the remnant of our innocence to
worldly ways,
replacing it with that robust gentility that lovers oft
explore,
reveling only in the moments passion, invoking nothing more,
than what grows in the Fraganardian gardens of love…
Conclusion:
Love is a blessing queerly grown,
a boundless freedom no man can own,
do not name the soil round passions seed,
it may not germinate to need…
FIN
BY BIGDADDY BLUES
No comments:
Post a Comment