Love,
lost or unrequited, cuts the very soul more deeply than all the
socio-culture-quasi-religious-politically-unable-to-correctly-in­fer-idio-ology
hokum this world can produce,
proliferate through propagation

There is no soul so grieved as one wading through the murk-stained waters of what once was a garden of carnal delights

The edge of love, discarded or disdained, is the Cosmic Surgeon's scalpel, bifurcating each person, paring the genius from the idiot and throwing away the genius

            L. O. V. E. D.

Five letters, for esoteric sages, three times trysting in amour’s lapsed too true virtue, powered by one ringing heap of dazed, confused hot mess to rule them all.

Take care, beautiful “I love you still”
Good luck, good night,
Go with God
Tell him I whisper a fond adieu
~
N.M.
12/20/16