e n i g m a

Pic: Self

so what is love
asked the cynical me,

three words uttered
by fleeting emotions
or exclusive arms extended
by want and need,

professed in words
for the world to read
or a stone on a finger
to reassure the eyes that see,

a bouquet of flowers
that wilt either way
or a potted plant
to water everyday,

a situational act
of loneliness’s calling
or a conscious play
to keep the same at bay,

a tag that says ‘us’
in a branded world
or like my faithful friends tail
that will forever stay curved,

a hand that needs
another’s to hold
or a soul sees another’s
through the eyes,

an act on stage
that in the moment seems right
or the first page of a script
that only two will write,

the trickster rainbow
that will charm the senses
or the uneven ground beneath
that will keep testing the balance,

so what is love
asked again the cynical me,

and my reflection in the mirror
seemed to smile mischievously,
‘water and air have no form defined,
love remains an enigma similarly.’

———————-

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28Apr17

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