Love is the first time you sleep with a face full of hair and don't care,
you're just grateful she's there.
It's all the emotion you're able to bear, so beware;
nobody said it was graceful or fair.
Love is unprepared to be rushed but a touch is barely enough,
and since you don't dare to give up, there is the rub.
She'll put her hair in a bun and rip the air from your lungs,
And you can feel your blood pumping like the scariest drum.
Love is it all, it's the bricks and the wall,
it's the stick and the ball, the listen and call,
The dismissal of any and all critical thought, but what is it overall?
it's the bridge metaphor and the physical fall.
Love is when you travel to the farthest of lands over mountains, marshes and sands.
It's artistry, grand, feeling your hearts swelling as large as they can,
hearing your arteries bang,
and being there to hold the cane inside the palm of her hand.
Love is transcending genders and age, to the 'benders' and 'gays',
finding an effortless way through the prejudiced plague.
Ask any men, they will say that it led them astray,
from the gentlest phrase to the mentalist, caged,
Love is the first time you sleep with a face full of hair and don't care,
you're just grateful he's there,
It's all the emotion you're able to bear, so beware.
Nobody said it was graceful or fair.
