What is loveIs not a red rose
Snatched away from care
Of a nourishing plant
Or a bouquet of flowers
Their aroma overwhelmed
By scent of desires
Of a manly heart
Neither the letters
In fragrant ink
That carries the feel
In words not deeds
Nor is the charm
Of holding hands
And walking past
The lonesome streets
Love is not the art
Of winning a heart
To love one needs
To loose a bit
When a distant pain
Stirs up the soul
That is love
As I perceive it....
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