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