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Love,
I won't be able to serenade you
I won't even be able to write a song for you
I can't even draw, or paint,
So, I won't be able to work out a canvas for you
I won't be able to do magic tricks for you
I won't be able to do much, Love
Except to look into your eyes
And to tell you of that which is in my heart;
That eternal love story which we have been enacting
Ever since Earth and its many creatures have dawned!

Pray, the secrets of this lie in my heart,
As ripe fruits are on their trees,
Waiting to be plucked,
Waiting with a passion which remains submissive,
Even more than that felt by women in love, 
When ready they are to chip off their wings,
Merely to allow their husbands to hold their hands and
To take them gliding on their own parasails!

Yet, those ripe fruits, if not plucked,
Fall to their death and are never evoked again
Never ever by anyone brave enough as to dare attempt a walk
On the flowery paths of this world!

Love, my secrets are ripe,
They desire to be chanelled to the openings of your heart,
They shall find there, by themselves,
The hidden pathways leading to your soul!

Once there, they shall feel safe, secured and comforted
Only if you shall love them,
Cherish them and treasure them
As a poet would do with the beats of the meter!

Love, glance at my heart, you shall see in there
The meaning you have been searching for all this time!
Hold my feminine tantrums,
You shall feel in them, the comfort you have been seeking!
Listen to my secrets,
You shall come to know that you are a God, not only mine own,
But that of the whole cosmos,
And I, remain, as I have always been,
That drive which you need to complete you!

For Contest Midnight Valentine
Written on 28th January 2019
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke

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