Love is motion in every direction in one,
to another.
It's expanding the world, with us dwindling
in scope by the sheer size of sighs
as the tapestry looms such warp,
weft, color and luster spreads.
It all roots in two eyes
and the mind behind,
sending shafts of color
and light down through all:
heart, gut, spine and right out
the butt. And then up from firm
ground comes the budding bloom
and cosmic fruit, which we can put
in our mouths, drink juice, taste flesh, but
it won't go into words.
Love is what moves us.
Love is what moves in us.
Love moves everything around us.
Love is the dynamism and inherent streaking velocity
in a single static point of value: which is attachment,
or bond, or white-knuckle grip, but really:
just hold.
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