Men and women who find
Women and men who love
Love,
Then men and women wonder
Whether love is something
Safe at all if women
and men are meant to love
And if so, what is it, this thing
Made up of easier, measurable emotion
Like lust, loneliness,
Insecurity, the go to anger,
Men and women
Jealous, hateful, or some
Combination thereof
Dragging love and its other amalgams
Through the mud and the blood
That should sustain you drains
Or takes down the whole brigade
It's not meant, blood,
To be in another's veins like that.
So which is it? Is it high in the sky
Like nunneries and Shakespeare,
Ethereal and pure or
Trenched with war and fear;
And where is the line,
The front or to the center
Of the soul and the earth where
Men and women who find
Women and men either an object of
Affection or just an object
Rendered possession with obsession
And the more up in the head
And further from the heart, the
More the dread,
And love is dead, if it ever lived
To begin with.
And yet --
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