Love.

Love

Love my hand on a chest at rest. Love when the mirror says yes. Love a hot shower on my neck. Love when my hair is a mess while I do nothing but feel blessed. Love when the air smells of coffee and sex.

Love when I can feel my muscles underneath the Lycra. Love to nurture every chakra. Listen to each voice and have the choice on witch one to trust. Love to write, exposed bust and slippers on, at dawn…

Love red in my decor and wood on my floor. Love cheese, meat and nuts. Love chips, beer, cold cuts. Even if it goes for my guts. Love rays of sun bouncing from the crystal on my stove. Love having fun with the petal of a rose on my nose. Love this, that and those.

Love being a girl and play dolly with me. Love getting dirty and fart jokes. Love the elderly. Love the old folks. Love the paws at belly of a begging squirrel. Love to pause for a birdie, chirping angel. Love slamming the heels of my boots on the concrete but for the grass, love to do it bare feet.

Love the drunken stagger of a young child. Love that rosy cheek, soft and mild. Love how they have to throw their head back to see underneath their hat. Love when they curl their fingers on their parent’s index. Love to think of my son, my pride, my blood, my flesh.

Love a graffiti tag when it’s inventive. Love a rebel when he’s sensitive. Love to surprise passers-by with a smile. Love when they boomerang it wry, shy or agile. Love the blacks, love the gays, love diversity. Love the lights at night, shinning bright in the city.

Love giving myself the luxury of being poor. Love liberty, love to soar. Love the countryside, love a log on an open fire. Love a man at my side, love to be filled with desire. Love when the sky serves me a cup of storm. Love nature in every shape and form.

Love hipsters, leftists and bums. Also love a crisp white shirt. Love guitar, bass and drums. Love music with some dirt. Love to whistle while he hums. Love the blues that hurts. Love the beat that numbs.

Love when a lady smells of vanilla, a gentleman, of lemon. Love pouring honey on my tongue out of the teddy bear bottle. Love to be a shoeless Cinderella, an uncommon woman. Love to watch hockey, UFC, racing, the full throttle. Love to mountain bike, adrenaline I like.

Love to dance, biting my lip, a bit trippy. Love pot, love scotch, love to party. Lose my stance; swing my hip, a bit tipsy. Love to seize the day and release the evening. Love bacon and eggs in the morning. Love to stay in silence for a long while after that.  Hush, hush, all quiet in my flat.

Love to find pianos in uncanny places. Love painted toes and naked faces. Love pin-ups from Elvgreen and Vargas. Love to win some green in Vegas. Love a fucked up movie or a book. Love to boogie, love to cook. Love clean teeth and a sharp brain. Love the window seat in a train. And love, love, love to dip my finger in wax to make a mold of my print.

Love Jewish humor and British accent. Reverse it and it’s still true. Love the Vikings, Love the Celts. Love eyes that are Prussian blue.

Love to love. Raven and dove. Come push or shove.

But to be loved, I hate.

Sadly, that is my fate…

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