Love is a child; it beliefs fairy tales –
pleasantries, fantasies, and happy endings.
Love is a believer; it blots out reason
inflicts its wounds with unfathomable sensibility
afoot, light-headed it condones deceits’ daring –
you can make a man out of an ape.
A Rake; can be reformed to be celibate
like Byron was to Annabella, Bill to Hilary.
Love is a sponge; it absorbs every crap
pacifies a tormented heart –
good men are dinosaurs – extinct.
Love is a verb, not an opium to get high on,
not a trophy you covert out of pity or envy
but such is Love’s lot – a virtuous villain.
Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords | 2020