The being of a man or woman it’s not
Behold the being I’d love to love.
A being yearns for love
Love that fulfills never unchanging
That does not depart upon the darkness of the soul befalling.
When there is tearing pain of departure
there is none but the menial recourses.
A wayward path is not pleasing in its fruit,
however pleasurable to the wandering eye,
Of a Soul whose buds never lingered on the
Love that’s so Real.