Poem: Painful Pleasure.

If love were leaves,
what color are its shade?
red like blood?
or clear like tears?
from brutality love springs
yet “soft” like tender,
“heaven” like forever
are words
to describe its sensation
cruel like deadly,
fire like suffering
are images
that better explain its reality.
Love is, until it isn’t.
Love lives — here, there, anywhere,
then love moves away,
changing its address.
Love imagines — what is, what this is.
Love forgets — what was, what works.
It feeds on your imagining.
So, imagine your love,
then love as you imagine.
Even in its cruelty, yet find tender imaginations.
Love doesn’t see,
but it hears just fine.
So, hear your love, then love as you hear.
For love grows on your hearing,
even in its suffering, yet profess forever love.