A Love can feel senseless, uncensored but essentially sensual, salival, moist and obscured from view

Overshadowed by morning hourglasses tapping on the glass, keeping a steady mast, before the blubbering is over fast

Love in the past, shameful body Love, all but the heart, a cheap craft, a dinghy, drift wood, careless fatherhood slides to sound the bell

More Love than I could sell, too many chapters to begin to tell of Love in the mind but a cell for the body, a drug for the sully, mischievous bully

Kicking and singing out Love for a dummy, the stupid and cunning, euphoric and coming again, the Love we spend

Selling and bartering, soaring so suddenly hardening, the shock and ever darkening, pleading, bargaining, marketing the entrance of a Love to a parting; but not lasting long enough to realise the rule of lust that tethers us

To never be Loveless.

By Seb Lloyd

Writer, South London

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