Too much talk ruins love.
Does she let you keep talking?
Be quiet. Or you’ll be walking.
If you unfurl all you have to say
Love, who looks, who loves looking, will silently turn away.
Love is wordless.
Look more. Speak less.
Love is the deer in the shade.
Love is not what a man with a camera made.
Love is not the swelling music and the try.
Love is the deer who in silence ambles by.
Love is not something you did.
Love is not how you lecture, or kid.
Love is the mist of ignorance
Where she laughed once and you haven’t seen her since.
Love is the shape hidden in a book
Taking her gaze. And there, for a long while, she will look.
The eye is the avenue of love.
And what travels down that avenue
Is her face, when she turns away from you.
