I am pliant. Wandering footloose in a red dress.
A disciple. The sun as beacon.
I go in the dusk. Plangent in romance.
There isn’t nonchalance. It’s an Edenic psalm.
All the same, except closeness; unsparing trumpeting
in the distance. All we need is love.
That native terror. The soul as gatherer.
What must be dual, in equal measure, is a falling
into sickness. That turns the tide again.
You’re shaking. The air is thick. There is only
repetition. So efface yourself. But then isn’t
tenacity and fierceness all you had believed?
Well, even in the monastery they drink sake.
Dour and majestic. Gruff with enlightenment.
Prompt: The Beatles sang it. All we need is love. So on this Valentine’s Day, you go write a psalm or something. What does love mean? What does loving mean? What does love want? What does loving want? Why is love so enigmatic? Soulful? La Di Da. Happy Valentine’s Day, all you lovers out there. Without love we are nothing. Say this whichever way in your poem.