What love is-

They say,
This- is what love is,
But you wouldn’t know now,
Would you?… referring to me,
A rendition, much like,
The sensational rhymes
Of a love poem,
Pours out of them.

I listen,
I have to-
An emotion which seems to be
An equivalent, to the way
I gaze at a cup of
Steaming black coffee,
Enchanted by the
Swirls of its steam;
Anticipation,
of that first sip.

An emotion which almost,
Feels like the yearning
With which I wrap myself
Around my one gifted duvet,
A visit,
Whose end I dread.

An emotion akin to
The warmth which embraces me
Each moment I happen,
Upon the words of my lord.
Pleasant to the ears,
Soothing to the soul.

An emotion which almost,
Almost feels like the cause,
Of my heart to bit a little faster,
At the sight of my study table;
Always another book to read.
How I hate them.
Oh, how I love them.

But they say-
I do not know what love is.
Maybe, I don’t.

The beautiful picture above Is courtesy of Pinterest.