"Love Is..."

Love is looking in her eyes,
and seeing so deeply into her soul,
that you know why your gray skies,
when she's around, turn to gold.

Love is brushing the string of hair from her cheek,
and observing the same cheek flush
with the thoughts and dreams that are so meek,
and understanding that she's in no rush.

Love is holding her in your arms
with her familiar scent floating in the air
and knowing that there, she can endure no harm,
and of your location you are no longer aware.

Love is drifting away at the touch of her skin
and becoming lost when her smile reveals
that though this is not where you ever thought to begin,
you've arrived here through such a great deal.

Love is wandering through an abyss
without any clear destination
yet every poke and cuddle and hug and kiss
is an immutable combination.

Love is a contrivance they say we should have never begun,
though, we say we've considered and prepared for it all.
For it all, we say we've contrived; ready, yet finally, we run.
Running so far and fast; running only to trip and fall.

Love is a ruse weird plays on its victims;
it all seems so valid and real.
One can only wonder how sure are such stratagems;
that which is true, he could never steal.

Love is a nirvana one can only hope to reach.
Love is an enigma you succeeded to teach.
Love is ecstasy to which I long to return.
Love is the match that makes my heart burn.
Love is a pastime youth supposedly should not begin.
Love is a game that I cannot win.

- Joseph H. Hansche
5/3/00