faith, love

when life goes, love
will not linger after.
There will be no music in the heavens
to waft our souls skyward; we, our hands
clasped as we rise, gazes interlocked,
will drop like stones into the grave
and wither ever after. You know this.
Whatever I may know on the topic
is neither here nor there, really.
And anyhow: "know" is far too strong a word
to waste on hunches and puffs of whimsy
such as I was brought up to believe in.
Still,
I love you.
I believe in love,
and

I am glad I was born

gullible.