knock knock

open the door to a word like love

and run out into an eternity.

have meaningful play all you want.

exhaust yourself of philosophic needs.

let your emotions get a taste 

of the air and the soil that abounds.

it's phrenetic as memory carried forward.

you can always keep some on your person.

for if feelings have a nose for earnestness, 

give yourself a whole new,

a pronouncement behind the pronounced,

a silence with more volume than loud,

but not ever heard as blearing. 

be at the impact of your sensory usage,

with love as batteries 

and a wider range of inner speakers.

with love, time has no stoic postures presented.

fluid has moments meeting next moments,

arm in arm, check to check.

one is in the vibrant exhaust 

from a waterfall up-lifting.

every breath is an uprising of buoyancy,

a zeal without a beginning or a means,

riding the headwaters of a flash flood of feelings,

where greeting is already carriage and afloat.

where movement is without guidance 

but as guidance.

love, the best of all seasonings,

for the appetite of feeling connected and consumed.

why have the word as the door for opening,

as if the mind has a residence 

of permanence as the owner?

love is the neighborhood 

before mind-residence was constructed.

have view be the residence,

while the mind claims abode.

for there is nothing more solid 

than the ever-change.

we all feed on it constantly,

even though we mentally claim an appetite for meals.

so, without delay,

open the door to a word like love

and allow yourself 

to run out into an ever unfolding eternity . . .