All is love.
All is love.
All is love.

Over and over these words
slop and slosh in the
bleak that has been
too long a force.

I wait for you to get off of work.
I want to talk with you.
Meantime, I'll write conversations
that I can
hop and skip over to you.

All is love.
All is love.
All is love.

Did you know that the favoured
flavour of wandering is to settle down?

Down with you.
You.

I like writing that word.
In the crawlspace of my reaching hands
is where you live.
In the zig zag of release
is what you have
snapped your fingers to achieve.

All is love.
All is love.
All is love.