Love comes first
I’ve believed in those epics of Love, moments when a man’s mind drifts away from the noise of the outer world and wants only to listen to his beloved — that quiet, tingling sensation in the stomach.
Love doesn’t ask for your attention. It crashes into you, sudden and unapologetic, and before you understand what’s happening — boom — you’re lovestruck. You’re already there.
Love comes first, and then comes the woman, like a butterfly resting on your fingertips. You cannot hold her when you want to; you find her instead, in the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. And somehow, without resistance, you find yourself wrapped around her fingers.
Love, of all things, is what makes you feel a kiss on the cheek that no one placed there. She closes your eyes and opens your heart. She holds your hand just firmly enough to lead you into utopia — a darkness only to the ordinary world.
You will be called a madman. But it is the world that is truly maddened, cursed by its inability to realise that Love resides in a woman — often unheard.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
