Love is. . . . . .
I heard her ask the universal question
I saw her joined to strangers
There lurked the dangers
But she was way too young to know
She thought old enough to go.
What is Love?
There is first so much to understand?
And you’re too old to be holding hands.
Love is a grape desperately desiring to be squeezed
Into a wine that might be a sweet tingle to your lips
Get a groove into your dancing hips
Doesn’t hold on by the fingertips.
That is softly sealed
…… rushing to the ageless
…… a kiss away delicious
…….believe my pulse outrageous.
Love is the language that speaks
That in the deepest darkest chambers the heart keeps
Being chased by laughing shadows
That lie down and rest in flowering meadows.
Love is in the air
That means everywhere
Only breaths when fresh
Only grows when it stays attached to The Vine
It endures the test of time.
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