Is this love

For in my time spent

I have yet to encounter this lent

That which so many brag

I hope then to follow a lag

So that I may empty my conjured desires

Oh my eyes lit up in flared bonfires

Turn hazel like the others

So I shall ask for my untraveled turf

With no will to be deceived

With no first hand attempts

Of the beauty and horror

Let upon my two lamps

Is it fulfilling as an autumn’s harvest

Rushing as the dampening spicy lust

Of lingering Jameson in a parched mouth

May it crack up adolescent art?

And see me laying in the highest of mellow clouds

Urge, fear, wanting and wreck

Push, pull, drag, and sweep

Into a sweet waiting ditch

Of happy shivering screams

May it wrinkle or flaw with time?

Does it ever mould or decay in wrath

Maybe it may sprinkle life into bodies

Like the gardener does to green his grass

Make me melt under your snotty crimson cape

If it drives sane minds dizzy

And finds them in some lost cause

Taming the wildest of beast flowers

It could be a perfect Christmas morning

If it be a mutual affair

So many write of this love

But my lamps have let an awful truth

That in this world and worlds

Many wander in fury

Rage has become manifest

To rule their true decent being

I have not yet loved bearingly

But I know that there

In a dewy meadow ahead

About hope, happiness and true love

Draws close on each sad story

So then fades all worry