Indearment relates to the conscious
mind in strange and inferring terms.
Too often and seldom
hath thou image
been engraved amidst the
fluttering pictorial slideshow lining my psyche.
When I want you, I need you
; desire sprouts from my arteries and spreads like wildfire.
But in rare moments of absolute tranquility (for example the the little death one experiences after ******)  do I realize the futility of that very emotion I held to be sacred only seconds prior. "Love" is merely an emotional adaptation to a physical necessity
Self-indulgence is the name of the game.
Wanna play ?