Love is, first off,
love, never a noun.
Love pushes through
a not knowing why
that appears as itself.
Love reveals the truth,
more importantly,
about from where we speak.
Love is getting up to dance
to the letting go.
Letting go of self as hostage
remembering that
passion before expression
has the stage.
Love calls as an invitation
to an endless ovation.
Love lives details
into a blaze
of oblivion
as a song rising.
Love bangs the drum
inside of our hearing it clearly.
Love has no boundaries
in lives with all edges.
Love has no altar
or pedestals or anything
done in elevation or stone.
Love has no outer whereabouts
to feel for where you are.
Yet love has been touched
by sacred moments.
Love cannot someone less
by loving someone else more.
Love is the continuance
of given as received.
Love is an oncoming path
finding its way through you.
Love drinks from inner expression
before the form is served.
Love invites circumstance
to come sit
from beyond the view.
Love is a confirmation given
from inside of that you realize.
Love is everywhere
there is pleasure
without performance.
Love undresses gestures.
Love is the compassionate handrail
of beyond.
Love does not dwell
in expectation's sky.
Love is a constant pouring
that attention drinks as life.
Love is the scissor’s work
upon an endless ribbon's run.
Love is the fury
that makes chaos
tell the truth from within.
For love, is . . .
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