Monday, April 13, 2020

Overread at Table 2: To Some, Love is the Open Palm

To some, love is the open palm.
To others, the clenched fist.
To some, love is a feather on the breast.
To others, the slit on the wrist.

Some will find love divine,
And others will find love sour.
Some will say love is the noonday sun.
Others, the midnight hour.

We have so many words for love,
In countless combinations.
Love changes and changes and changes again
In infinite variations.

At times we try to obscure our love
But love appears as surely as the dawn.
But, the moment we know that we have truly loved:
is the moment Love is gone.

[with some slight editing 2020-0412]

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