Sunday, February 2, 2014

Write when you’re drunk; edit when you’re sober: Ernest Hemingway.

Quite earnestly, by all means Hemingway,
On a spirited high,
Thinking of LOVE from head to toe,
Filled with woes of a week-long separation
Post some intense human touch.
Whatever happened after that?
Reason still undecipherable.
Love, not in its melodramatic sense,
September whence it all began
Bloody hell
Realization dawned, screaming that this is it
This is Love!
Fall in love; one did not want to,
For falling could mean hurt,
Regardless, let’s call it stepped into love zone
Taken a full dip now
Nothing asphyxiating,
Only joyous,
Yet painful,
Love, respond
This is with tears and some spirit
Warmest embrace and the longest of kisses
Shall remain, she shall contain
Until love returned, for whatever reason he remained oblivious!

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