Because love is a kind of eternal swansong
Of being found, or lost, or sought
And because love is all things we know innermost-
Those which describe our very existence to us

It is taste, and touch, and smell
The almost liquid nature of hair
Or the scent of the pillow which is your lover's shoulder
Or the sinking pit where one should lay, but won't
In your bed, or in your stomach

Because love is both holding
And having lost something which to hold
And having neither to held nor lost but wanting

Because love is timeless, but perhaps not so much
Where in the early hours we all seem to find it
Together, entangled, or shooting like a star
Beyond our grasp, but caught and examined in our minds
Either way, dissolving our sleep

Because love is so bitterly and joyously human
No matter how incomprehensibly personal
I need not dedicate this to anyone
Surely it is everyone's love poem