garret

A romantic believes in six senses
Taste, touch, hearing, sight, and smell
So they know the smell of a rose
And touch, a warmth in the cold 
Hearing, a voice soothing in any pitch
Taste, a kiss
Sight, a beauty that may just last the ages
All of these can be between any two and perish at the end of one
But the sixth is not physical
It is not *** but passion
Not human but soul
Not relationship but transcending
It is not borrowed or bought or born but found
It is love existing and unexplainable
There at once and always 
Beyond mere ashes and dust