I think of love as a small home
With furniture well-used
And the clutter of life
And the smell of fresh food.

I think of love as a silouhette
In the dark of night
And whispered words
That ring true in daylight.

I think of love as long silences
Broken by the turn of a page
And loud, simple contact
And losing track of hours and days.


I think of love as a furrowed brow
As an angry shout and a sharp word
And a fist strinking out
And hurt, hurt, hurt.

I think of love as broken promises
And vitriolic, secret thoughts
And discontent never to be voiced
And doors that never unlock.

I think of love as a gilded cage
And a small bird that will never get away.
I think of love as predators and prey
I think of love as vulnerability.


I think of love as a downturned head
And silent submission
And an authoratative stance
And the will to listen.

I think of love as the catalysm's calm
As a word in a hurricane
That stops a million, million thoughts
And halts a crashing train.

I think of love as a private comfort
And rare affection
And overwheleming pride
And jealous admiration.


I think of love.