Do you want love?
You already have love,
It’s yours—you cannot give it back.
Love is always yours. Love is a lack.
When you dare to hold another,
And dare to tell them you’ll be true,
That’s when love flies away;
That’s when love looks strangely at you.
“Who is this, with skin and hair,
With eyes and flaws? Who lives here?”
Desire is all you are.
You are a window with a morning star.
You are a hand unlocking a door
Patiently for centuries.
Be patient some more.