if i were invited to replay that moment
my fingers would pause on the keyboard below,
my feet would undoubtedly stick to the floor
its not that i couldn’t engage my opponent
or wield a sharp blade that was shaped like my tongue, though
it seems such a tired and ill-fated course
the fact was you told me you loved me but, hold on,
a qualified statement was soon to appear;
and i would be shaking my head even more.
for love, you explained, like a governor’s pardon
forgives all your trespasses, boxes your ears,
then kisses you gently and shows you the door.
it’s laced with the shards of a crystalline apple;
it’s luscious and juicy, diabolically sweet;
it promises more than you’ll likely endure.
you taste of it’s flesh and swallow it’s sap, it’ll
soften the hunger pains, leaving you dreaming
of sunshine on bare skin, bear rugs on the floor.
but under that countenance, breath of an angel,
the eyes of a doe or an innocent fawn,
you may be uncertain , you may be unsure;
for once again love draws its delicate curtain,
you see through your red lenses subtly drawn
you know that you’ll drop your defenses for her.
i haven’t been honest, to not say ‘i love you’ ,
to make that pronouncement then one must be sane.
but then again, i haven’t tried to demur…
its all about context, and what it means to you,
and if it’s a risk that you’d take on again.
for it could be a remedy, if not a cure.
go, dream about princes, go dream about pearls,
don’t trust in the stories that flatter your ear.
there’s only one author who knows what’s in store;
she speaks to the boys and he speaks to the girls,
the language , tho’ gendered , reveals loud and clear
that life, with love in it, is what we’re here for…
jmidworth 
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