Frailer than dreams, love came,
soft as a song, shy as a glance,
but perfectly alive, into
the unkempt meadow of
my heart.

How to measure love…
a trillion nano-seconds
untranslated, flowers that
guess and miss, stars that
don’t exsit and what excuse
for not except « of course »
and « maybe »

For the syntax of love
is feeling, when chemistry
approves and life’s more
that a paragraph and death
a mere paraenthesis.