love

Love who would thought,
A word so small,
Best when un-sought,
Could say it all,

A single syllable,
Oft hard to rhyme,
Can be quite billable,
If it charges us for time,

The word itself is a kiss,
A taste of soul touching lip,
For that intoxicating bliss,
We hunger for a sip,

The past is lost,
The future not found,
But its nature defrost,
When present fire abound,

So ego revel and enjoy,
And to the burning stars remind,
To your best self employ,
And to delicate love be kind.