let me be clear
we are gathered here
to discuss the conception,
not the concept of love

the moment when that selfie line erased,
straight and narrow road
rail guards fall fast away,
more than a mere dropping,
the physical of oneself's modifies
alove alive

so obvious,
the mind must
eagerly, tacitly, reluctantly,
and eagerly surrender
with red flag waving
to the shock and awe,
or just a puzzling

oops,
here I am, once again,

letting the gate open
so that horde of wolf words,
so hard to utter,
until once done,
the unthinking the unconscious the ineffable howling  of

I love you

the soft truth, the first commandment
the dotted center ten,
crazy wavy concentric circles

I love you

tongue slides,
those words just
somehow slip over the mouths water moat,
come our dripping like a newborn,
dressed to the nines
in finery of amniotic fluid

****, this took days of  soft labor
and courage-taking drugs

now
having said "it"
out loud
you examine the statement,
twist turning it in every way,
does it hang in the air, homeless,
lonely for a
"well received"
or does it repeat and repeat,
like a fabulous wine tasting,
that says come back for more,
later,
or now

this birth of a new nation of two,
even if not officially recorded
in any book or city ledger,
nonetheless
is holiday forever recalled, instantly,
as the moment,
the conception,
the Memorial Day of
new love

it is a cork popping, a face slapping,
a huh and duh
self-realization,
and you come to it fast or slow,
but the moment, the very second,
that the wrong way street sign ignored,
crossed,
and the day light quality changes,
that precision point
now, as identifiable as a
birth certificate

and keepsake kept in the frontal lobe,
the slow sledding,
the giving up, the giving into,
the conception of love

what is the concept of love?

on this treacherous topic,
the poet will not opine,
which is quite fine,
for love be
amorphous and sheer,
diaphanous and clear,
demanding and dear,
shimmering shiny and white light clarifying,
it is as individual as
our genetic codes

yet the instant of acknowledgement
is the same for everyone,
shock and awe, shock and awe...

touched with a micron of foolishness and
a sheepish grin, and a passing thought of

where has this been, and what took so long,

that quickly morphs into a
cacophony of trembling
palpitations, tremors and shiver-me-timbers
and that is when, fool,
it is the time,
the mirthful birthful
conception of love
being tape recorded
forever and more