Love is doing good deeds when no one is watching.

It is the absence of your self within your actions.

Love is that which all require, but none is willing to acquire.

Love is that which all aspire for, yet, dont inspire.

Love, the thing that everyone wants and nobody wants to give.

Love, is that which seems to be of no importance to the culprits of disordinance.

Love is that which is counterfeited and sold as fools gold in the form of flesh and bone. Moist kisses of cognac and Menthol scented regrets.

What IS love? A drug? A natural herb that one can tea and boil and spoil.

Is it soil that saw you young as you stepped upon its ground, is it mother who has left, was she Love? Is love dead?

Is it only in our hearts, in our minds, in our dreams?

If not us, then what is love

Then what is love,

If it ain’t me.