a Poem by Raquel Swann
Love is NOT an acquired taste,
Nor a fine wine that improves with age.
It’s NOT a sunrise over the horizon
on a dewy morning in spring.
Love is a bullet shot from a smoking gun,
it enters your body swift and fast,
the wound burns and stings,
your adrenal system pumps fluids
into your body.
You know you’ve been shot but,
your mind won’t allow you to believe it.
As plasma leaks from the hole,
you settle down and accept your fate.
Whether dead or alive,
the experience stays with you forever.
Love is the feeling of helplessness,
your fate in the hands of another.
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