Love

There is this word which does you fear. Tracing its scars for always. Given birth to in happiness, dying out in the pain. Drawing its ploughings in your heart. Love. You remainders dependant. Of its meeting, dagger with sharp blade. Imperceptibly being inserted in your defenses. Love. With the body without face. Wallowing in your nights well too wise. Run the wave. Overflowing and howling. Love. Forbidden fruit. That you carry to the fleshy lips. Tasting honey and the poison. Of its tears drowning your reason. Love. Leaving Te stripped. The obscured face, reddened eyes. The contrite heart, the ravaged heart. Crying emulously. Love. Without which you feel frail. Quite simply mortal. And which points out you. That you can be beautiful.