An Unconventional Love Poem

Love is sand
Waiting to be thrown into eyes,
A temporal cocoon
From which we await release.
Love is time 
Waiting to claim its prize;
A slow and glorious mire,
Into which sinking is pleasure.
Love is a creature
Birthed into inevitable decay.
The death of it will be sorry
But it should smile,
For before dying it briefly fluttered
In at least one heart.
Love is a mortal thing,
As beauty is;
The ability to appreciate
Is a delightful plague.
Imperfection is underrated,
For love is flawed,
A thorny and parasitic
Concoction born of human cognition.
Love is suffocation
In a sea of tumultuous petals,
In white linen and perfume.
Love is a virus,
And I would prefer
Not to be inoculated.

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