To love

To love

Is no cliché.

To feel your heart

Swell to bursting,

Filling your chest,

Light headed,

Struggling for breath,

Lost for words,

At the mere thought

Of separation,

Is no anxious attachment.

Love is no choice

Of lifestyle,

Or specification.

It is not speculation,

Asset accumulation.

It does not depend on

Relationship gurus,

Lifetime coaches,

Who would no doubt,

Survive a nuclear attack,

Like cockroaches.

And proliferate,

At the thought

Of a dispute

And probate.

Love is pain,

It is both losing

And gain.

It is all you want

And all you need.

It grows from the seed

You plant at the start,

When you first

Lose your heart

And burns with

The light of your life.