It is the vertical rush
of the wings that we fly on;
the feathers brush of softness
as the world passes by.
It is the sensation of full belly,
fluttering way up in the heart,
without any burdens to weigh
it carries all of life in a mystical way.
It is cool, and creamy sweet,
a fluid movement pouring over;
a passing form is made to focus
on its magma of velvet pulp,
timelessly making ripe the urgency
for its contagious incurable joy,
And we burn with euphoric desire,
so lucid; that we choose to burn
for the one who brings this feeling.
Its a funny thing about Love,
how its magical presence begins inside
and works its way out to another.
And yet we often look towards the other,
as if they kept it exclusively all along.
It is in this way, that Love is truly blinding,
as a jealous daylight never contains the sun,
Nor do the shores ever hold back the sea.
~ jeffrey vionito