here’s what I see when I look at love:
nothing that’s fallen from above
nor anything that fits like a glove.
it’s a thing that everything else is uncharacteristic of.
i don’t see any magic, or clouds that i can walk on.
never is it just a nice thing that I happened to happen upon.
it’s as confusing as a muted swan;
a sight that’s as peaceful as any fight on a jumbotron.
it’s something that refuses to concede to my brawn.
when it stands in front of me, i move and see safety as a haunt.
its concepts are placed before me to accept and never flaunt.
i remind myself of its silliness, but still want.
the desire begs me to be selfish or stand as that village’s savant.
love’s nothing more than anything to me.
it’s as demanding as any queen can be.
i say, give in and watch a mutual understanding go waywardly.
it might surprise you and be slightly less than dastardly.
either way, if you see it and think of me, please don’t hesitate to call me.