i have ******
i have felt
but i have never
(not once)
been in love

not "well, maybe once"
nope
never
have i

been in love

been in love
it rolls off the tongue
with a force of its own
a cascade of eddies
flit about the edges

a past tense
slave to the future

been in love
a remembered caress
a needle
a sledgehammer
either way
it does not stammer
it babbles on
a brook a crook

we consent
not to its content but its
unmistakable steps
we bend
to its
innocence

the way it moves consumes

it is, i think, in a sense
what makes us want it
so much
it is what steals the breath

air replaced with
babbling
over tome of stone

i have gladly
taken a scalpel
to its made bed
revealing bones alone