A work in process

What is love 

to those like us

full of it

and insatiable,

Who’s to say

what’s enough

when all 

and nothing

is up to us?

For how you feel

I am not

in fact

responsible

though 

I must concede

there are just

two of us

here in

mirrored

apprehension.

What is it

we can utter 

beyond

convention,

if Love

is a construct

like God,

a human 

invention?

You say

let’s build 

a monument

moment by moment

a fragmentation

we will not forget

in times of 

dissolution

and regret.

Tear drops 

are also

heaven-sent

if seen as

something 

we choose 

to recollect;

The spawns 

of whatever

argument

the isolated

intellect

might present,

or hold in check.