Loving

It is skittish and clumsy—in denial

And dishonest.  It is forgetful

And scattered, an amazement and terror.

It is beguiled by its own being,

And is hoping and wishing—it is never

Sleeping, feeling, or heeding to logical thoughts;

It is a sense of escaping, and pondering passion.

It is always devising, plotting, and 

Wishing—waiting and weaving ideas,

All the while never wavering.

It is needless, and nonsensical—ridiculous,

And tiresome—cumbersome and curious,

But is still believed to be worth the trouble.

It is desirous and dreamy—it is constant,

And tenacious—tantalizing, and timeless;

It is both shy and audacious,

Wry and respectful. It is a succubus 

And saint—both war and peace—

Nirvana, a nazi—orderly and chaotic,

Both vanilla and chocolate.

It is abstract and constrained, 

Both original and plain.

It is prodigious and mini,

A scandalous imp and seraph—

Both forgotten and favoured,

Frivolous and hoarded.

It is delicate and evasive

But still,  we want it.

           DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com