Love is violent grace
The
sparks of its axe fly from the whetstone to the strains of Debussy
With calculated abandon
It
murders the heart with swift blows
Only
to rebirth it in petals and Honey
I
suffer its multiple reincarnations on my journey to
The nirvana
of perfect devotion
Love
wears Velvet mittens and spurs
To
flay the soul with tender Kisses
That
burn through every layer of skin
My heart knows the gentle destruction of love’s chisel
As
it chips away at All resolve
And
carves me into its pure state of peace
Remarkably
Whole in the aftermath of an onslaught
By
the crooning banshee of amorous whispers
I
wonder that I still breathe
Love
my Prayer
You my confession
Awaiting
Freedom in the binding of adoration’s blessing.
From lottie Jan 2013©
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I'm not in just now, but you're welcome to stay a while and doodle me a note. Make yourself a cuppa if you like, otherwise there's some beer in the fridge, and probably some left-over chocolate cake. No pinching my turkish delight though, and whatever you do, don't feed the cat, she's completely loony.
Lottie