Guys are told to play the field,
To see the chest for not what lies beneath
But what lies above and over.
We want our spines not to be bribed
To the cowardice, only to a leap of faith.
The orange is not judged by its rind.
Is there a bigger deprivation
Than keeping a heart unattended.
And simplifying the corporeal,
To the music of our grunts.
Love, an underdone heart that
Voices her simple theory of relativity
That even Einstein knew implicitly.
The bard’s vowel, is not the same
The body’s double. The straight
Road armed with unpromiscuous eyes;
No roses by the wayside; the larks in our bellies;
The crowded room that empties
When you are just head over heels.
The greatest feeling is to have
An outpacing heart, that gifts
A workout to a brazen body. I guess
We are all whimsical dreamers. The old-fashioned
Darcies who see laced corsets as they
Peal with their bladed eyes.
The branch that bears the oblong fruit,
Is weighed by the undone patience, but
Not the pomegranate, that cracks
From the outside, unable to
Hold another for any longer.
And she, with the talons of a cassowary
Bring you upon death, drowned
In her deep whirlpool, and the death
Rattle shakes one magnitude larger,
When banded in perfect aurum.
The constancy of an unguarded heart, that
Contrary to the cultured norms,
Comes back to the same book,
That with time loses