Love, only love, can sleep aloud
And burn in silence or whisper
And leap out of eye, lip and tongue
To harness the energy that lives inside.
A portrait, of no mirages, phantoms or ghosts
Just a supreme sense of never abandoning
The vessel that carries you. Love, it
Is the soul of the soul, the only alibi
That we have lived – and not existed – in these plutocracies of glitter,
Atlantis to that counter-force of counterpart
And knows the difference between a lump of gold
And a nugget of iron pyrite – what we call fool’s gold.
And love, it never vacates, in vacation or doldrums
Carves a billabong that never dries out.
Formulates the perfect concoction
That clenches everything imperfect about the other
And makes her holier than perfection.
What impinges beauty with no scratch marks
Just absolute caress. Love is love. That energy
Inside driving a journey that delivers time
To the end of your nose, latched to another, whose
Heart is just oblivious of everything around
Except you. Drift-proofed you are now
On that island that becomes your own malignancy.
Till death rolls you over. And love is, when you
Abandon your GPS, every map and compass
Knowing you are there. And she is too.