(When in love, every poem will be
the same. Sit back, light a spliff of
romance. I smile only for a woman
who surpasses my entire being. As
for the others, picture me hanging
out the window, light to the middle
finger. I’ve got no love for you.The
mystics dont die, we just multiply.
I'll see you at the crossroads. What
happens at judgement day?)

It will take your heart and consume it,
stealing your breath away, leaning in
to kiss one another, the wait leading
to this moment will be long, the memory
looking back, short and nostalgic. It
will beat you down, revelling all truths.
As we before we die, somehow, the love
will hold our hands and let us fully live.
It won’t be expressed in poetry or in
any other literature. It must be experience.
The love will invent one another, between
two soulmates, furthering more, surpassing
our very essence, our entire being.
Living now, better than our pasts, as it
parents our future. You’ll never live one
moment without the other, the love won’t
allow it. Neither no muse, or no God,
Will permit it.  It simply doesn’t happen, if
it’s true. Few will ever see this love, rare are the
ones that will ever experience this real
love, that all poets are behind in. speaking truth
to conscious reality, revealing always, what
lays bare naked in the subconscious.
If it doesn’t burst your soul into stars,
don’t follow through on them,
in spite of everything at veil-normal,
don’t do it. Unless, they tear that mask of
yours, undress your veiled-persona,
opens your mind - don’t do it. If you never
think about them, hunched over, alone,
not a single thought. It’s not them.
Love is tender, touching holiness, bringing
out something, nearly perfect in you. Do it.
The world has plenty of normal in it.
Love is something, in private worlds, inside
your inner-world, your thoughts, your heart,
your something, an act of revolution. Revolting
against everything in your life. Most of all,
love belongs to everyone, but when two are
in love, love belongs only to them and no-one
else. Despite of everyone else. Love isn’t
something people work towards, work together,
luck of the draw or anything like that. Love
can’t be learnt in poetry, novels, any sentimental
art. It’s more than a act or experience. When
it happens, you burst stronger and brighter
than any known supernova, you’ll know it.
And land in a place that all our muses live in.
You’ll be center of envy from poets, romantics,
as friends and family turn to you and your lover,
‘Why can’t we be like that?’  
(Knowledge Variable)