“Help me, I think I’m falling…”
The urgent longing for love belies scrutability.
Desire does not lend itself to dissection.
The vise of emotion squeezes out reason.
We are reduced to fluttering pinheads of need.
Endearment demands its own road be taken.
Dreams drive out the better currency of logic.
Two plus two does not add up in the heart.
Up is down, white is black, knowing falters.
Your body is a fire pit filled with strred, red embers.
The anaconda of choose me squeezes the soul.
Our better judgment becomes obliviated.
We are helpless kittens in the hands of Eros.
The world twirls in a dream of unreality.
Longing drives skepticism and irony to retreat.
The core of our being stands naked to the world.
Never are we less likely to make sense.
Never, ever are we more acutely human.
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