Love isn’t blind. Maybe we are all born blind and love finally gives us sight.

We call a story about love
a love story.
We call a poem about love
a love poem.
Well then, my dear, aren’t our lives
love lives?

Like freshly cut roses,
I place life in a vase...
of love.

Of course, I am religious.
I worship love.

The only path wide enough for us all is love.

I am certain,
my love,
that poetry was born
only after your birth.