Love

Better to have shed
All expectations
At the beauteous gates
A step into which
Is an unknown plunge
A great falling like the
Waters that rise only to
Fall across and caress the
Unnamed rocks
Of the Niagara
Centuries and millenniums to pass.

Better to have
Loved
Oneself Despite
The gaping odds
Where the mirror
Spikes out a truth
So harsh and rare
A yellow pearl could
Be its only offering.

Better to have
Longed
Felt the edgy madness
Of a rising sun
“Tip-Toeing” over mountain tops
To have sighed in great
Relief
Choked even,
That it is the tide
Of another day.
A chance to
Have these nostrils
Stretch out and
Inhale the scent
of love.
That these eyes
Might have scorched
These lifeless
Walls and streets and
Pleaded onto the
Many feet to stop
Stop
For even if one moment alone
That the pink
Soft and petal
Feet of love might be kissed
Tasting with it the
Mud and blood
And longing
Of all love’s traveled past.

Better to have waited
For in love
“In a minute there are many days”

Better to have lived a thousand such minutes
And died.
Than never to have felt the pinch of love at all.

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