Love
A bird? A plane?
It floats. It passes.
The roar of a train:
silenced when it passes.
It? What it? Is it you?
Is it the rose so red;
or the sky so blue?
Tell me what it's been fed;
what, is it true?
Eyes, yours and mine,
It captures, it preys,
It makes our hands intertwine.
Come what it may;
Come what it may.
Our lips forever embrace
these humble moments of it.
Our desiring eyes slowly trace
how it is our perfect fit.
It's more than a pretty face,
but also how our souls are lit.
It's soft and gentle; like a bass.
And after this trivial bit,
Just what is it? What is it?
by Anonymous
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