To write of love
 

To write of love is to appear to risk

All without risking anything. To tell

All without fear of comeback or

Consequence. To fall in and out of

Love on a whim, to lay beside a

Beautiful woman or weep at the

Bedside of a dying child, it makes

No difference, the pen is immune;

You are in charge of the pen and

Pen does your bidding, scrapes

There may be, but escape hatches

Are everywhere.

To write of love is to take command

Of love, to do with it as you will. To

Give the heart a run for its money

That place where pain and pleasure

Live together. Nights interspersed by

Intervals of incandescent connexion

Before once again returning to the

Pitiful lodgings of uncertainty and

Misgiving, but where would love be

Without doubt and uncertainty?

Those two guardians of the heart

Who see to it that a lady will be

Wooed and the suitor kept, for the

Most part, in slippery suspension.

Legs, limbs and other things, beauty

Half exposed is often better than the

Naked truth and this is where, for the

Connoisseur, ‘To write of love’ comes

Into it’s own and where delicately

Crafted undertones draw the mind into

Seeing things that are not there and

Have certainly not been said, but have

Been accurately and succinctly felt

By the reader, who is left in no doubt

As to the intentions of the author.

To write of love may be to journey

Back in time, especially when the

World has done with you and love

Has too. Where better then than

Memories of an old love now known

To be alone and for whom something

At the back of the heart still remains.

Time it would appear has healed or

Perhaps unkindly, ‘any port in a storm

Will do’, giving fresh legs to a past

That may now look far more attractive

Than a lonely future - whatever the

Price.
 

© Joseph G Dawson
18/06/2019 and earlier