Love is gentle like a cool summer breeze.
It's peacock beautiful as Fall's color trees.
It can dance ballet or Tango or Vienna Waltz.
Love is fickle. There one minute it's gone the next.
Love is fierce when threatened and willing when not.
Love lives in the light of day and the dark of night.
It falters at times and is steadfast at times and love
can be cruel and kind and anywhere in between. It is
unpredictable yet we choose to trust it as true north.
We act diva shocked when it fails, all tears and sobs.
It is a fallen power line in a wicked storm that goes
where the wind blows and spares some and kills some.
Love is mistaken for lust sometimes and havoc ensues