Shorthand on Love
I see it a rushing gush that stops for
nothing, not even for the rocks, stones,
strewn in it, its hush rushes over,
It's a river's course for a toe's wiggle to me. The blush in the Azaleas, love is, in the surrounding Forget-Me-Nots too *sigh* maybe...
This serene ending the Summer bids when giving in to the coo of the coming Autmn,
never interrupting the breeze,
just the easing we feel in the degree around us, *sigh* love is... It's that touch and gentleness we somehow, always feel about our shoulders, hanging on us, like the arm of our wooer,
a hug, never too heavy or just heavy enough. It's the gravity,
pretty and shining, above us, that always catches our eye, day and night, even though we've seen it, a million times *sigh* maybe said it more...
It's the estuary within, the rivulet running,
love is, maybe, if I portrait it,
if I put a pen to it...