if it does not leave me bewitched
terrified to the bone
give me that sensation of unease
right before a fall

if my skin does not live its seasons
the chill of winters twilight
the warmth of its embers
of homecoming during a storm

if it’s not like the crash of waves
against bare rocks its devoting mark
full of trembles its withholding
before the bursting ******

Love, you ask?
if love isn’t all that, I don’t want it
oh, I don’t want it at all.