Love is Poetry

The exact date, the hour, the minute, the precise second are all uncountable.
The gradual change is hardly noticeable.
If time is passing then it is slow
Very, very slow.
It is strangely slow
There is no movement or sense of direction
but there is sensitivity
This sensitivity comes in pulses
from time to time
The first pulse gives no hint of origin
Then for a little while there is nothing
Then more sensation
but this time there is a sensation of warmth
It is comforting
Now, a little emotion;
all is tranquil
Something is flowing, running, swirling.
Spinning like an eddy on a stream
Outside all seems still and stagnant...

“The Eternal”, Filigree & Shadow - Mick Rooney

Love is poetry