Love

by
pb Hill

Love,
He has not known me.
Lust, his baby sister, has kicked and bitten me more than once
His fraternal twin brothers, Pain and Anger, have corrupted my permissive intima
cy
But Love,
He has not known me.
Love,
He has not known me.
Except for the fairytales of my heart where many players have whispered in, irre
solute, on wistful days and hastened away,
But Love,
He has not known me.
Love,
He has not known me.
His kindness is a spent dream inspired by the tractable memory
of childhood's guardless passions and fearless clenching.
But Love.
He has not known me.
Love,
He has not known me.
And i have not known him.

Love,
i have not known him.
Nor has he seen the years wasted away on my wrinkled spirit.
Time tracks itself, but my heroic quest transcends it.
Still Love,
He has not known me.
Love,
i have not known him.
Nor have i felt the fidelity of his forever embrace returned.
Nor has he seen the purity of splintered soul's strength.
Yet Love,
He has not known me.
Love,
i have not known him.
Nor does the searching seeking ever cease despite the odds.
For love will always be the last place i choose to look.
And Love,
He has not known me.
Love,
i have not known him.
And i drive myself toward this pristine reward given to the faithful, honorable,
 and undeserving a like.
My commitment teaches me reaching patience.
Though Love,
He has not known me,
The somedays He can are slipping by.