Love is not a word
in search of a definition
Not a matter of grammatology
font style effects
My fingers touch your skin
and the heat transfers
The deeper lava flows
hot as your beating heart
Back and forth I descend
into the wants of your eyes
I feel the rise and fall of your breath
as tears surge out of my face
For each shattered occasion
I missed out on your embrace
And today it is all but too late
and it is never too late
for one more morning alive
for the bliss of the unexpected
Sunbeams ignite the windowpane
Dewdrops like supernovae explode
Holy chaos licks the edges
of this page as I scroll down
There are no ordinary days
Love is not a word
John Dotson
February 2017
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