The love of the game
Surpasses every affinity
Even the love of self
When in that skull helmet and groin armory
Is the preserver of making thought
And making love….
In the transcendence of a sport
When both the processor bearing the third eye
And appreciator of soul mate through twin portals
Are mere dartboards to cupid’s arrow
Which streams fast and furious
When all one can do
Is to flash a bat with poise and precision
And in that sweet percussion
In the crispiness of wood on leather
There is a first love that will never be erased
What is beyond making love and the valuation of a kiss
After all the hold of a legendary game
Is mightier than a lover’s grip
When the child inside will play with fire
For the perennial pyromaniac
Only knows the Neanderthal twig – a cricketing bat
That will forever kindle
His willow dreams.

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