What is love?

For a while, in the bedroom and company of a beautiful young woman, I felt positively enchanted. We were detached from one another, operating in different worlds at the time- she busied herself with communication and work, and I, with leisurely observations of her, admiring her figure, her dress, her exuberance. Love had made her shine- either in my eyes or without them, it matters not if what's perceived is only the same. As she worked she worried that she had been neglecting my attentions. I assented to confessing that I didn't mind. Happiness has no place in mind, but lives, and for that time, I lived throughout her, around her. Made lazy by hot weather and affection. What an entity she was! Complete in her many dimensions, an impossible object forever twirling before your very eyes, slowly, so that when you think you've seen all you recognise, so suddenly, there is a change that's eased in smoothly with no disruptions to your expectations, but rather falls on you with an invisible guile. It whispers in your ear, languishes your neck with petulant kisses and makes your bones ache with desire as it stabs you gently in the back, and raises the blade right to your heart. A soft shock, love. And when we are really in love, we are only too happy to be murdered.
   At turns, I kissed her appendages, stroking her thighs, raised her dress and kissed her warmly where her two legs meet, both forward and behind, around and through the material of her knickers, and so rare was her indifference, that it could have only divined from pleasure. So many times a day it is, that we love, so seldom it is that we're in it.

What is love?

To know there is no part of you

that is not loved-

no part that is not made erogenous.

Love is to know that you need not fear

dissection,

for every graze, every grain

every bruise, or hole, or mole

be as beautiful as the whole

when put together

in its not so motley amalgamation

with a beauty that be,

stripped of the flesh,

witnessed in the soul

and within the reflection of the dark pupil

where we find a love for the self

because we are beloved.