Love hides well in the shame of misplaced givings.
Love cowers in the face of a brutal ‘no’.
Love whispers from the dying throes of embers.
Love runs for sanctuary …
… and surrenders only when ambushed.

In the hope of what might be …
With the wish of things to come …
And the passion of a haunting desire …
Will dissolves …
… and the orderly becomes disordered.

Only then is love consummated.
The mind agrees and the heart nods in kind.
And the soul breathes a gentle flame.

Erupt appropriately at your discretion.