If love was

 

If love was only

a fleeting feeling,

would it really feel

like a heart stopping,

or like time has ceased

to mean a thing?

Or would it be

the feeling of a hurricane

blowing you off your feet,

sweeping you up in its hands,

and lifting you into space

to feel the enormity of its

touch?

 

If love had a colour,

would it be red or would

it shed the restraints

of our spectrum

and paint itself

in stardust

instead?

Would it flow over the canvas

In liquid state, or like

life growing across

a world reborn in its wake?

 

If love was a place,

would it be a land, a continent,

or the oceans and lakes in between?

Would it tower like

the mountains

upon which we stand, or would it be

the clouds that hold

those mountains in hand?

 

Or would it be the way

you place your hand on my heart

taking a beat and conjuring

butterflies in its place,

and as I feel them bursting to life,

is this the feeling

of love starting to thrive

because love is alive?

 

If love had a name would

it be written in cursive script,

would the ink drip

across the page

in the silken fluid motion

of a waterfall washing down

the stones below,

Or would it be torn right

from the pages, ripped from

the stars and screamed

with the passion

of every burning flame?

 

And if love had a name,

then would it be yours?