Making Love
By Walter Burns
Making Love -always this ridiculous obsession with love Moulin Rouge -not with a bang but a whimper T.S. Eliot Love defined: a lesser knead Love we breathe yet, love we leave Love defined: a lesser shade but what if Love Is all we’ve made? Some would scoff Yet some would cough And pat us on the sleeve How can I Write of Love When plastered walls And smoke above Affix their terms Where eyes enfold Cannot disguise A strangled hold For Love is tender paradox Some would keep it in a box Where tissue waits in fond farewell For some it’s just a kiss and tell Here, I’ve taken on this fate To be the one who’ll always wait Love is waving in my face I cannot breathe I cannot place I only know my heart will race Race to write it down for now Race to weave a knitted brow Written January 28th, 2002 © on Jan 28 2002 06:05 AM PST 0 • 10
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"Making Love..."