coffee cups

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.

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