love

The spelling of love starts with a love feast on an empty stomach, followed by learning and partaking in the tradition of Benedictine monks.  The next letter isn't so much a letter as punctuation; a question mark that invites, woos, entices you to inch ever closer…closer to death.  Before you step and expose your inner nakedness, love makes you laugh the laugh of a thousands children; children playing to the rhythm of innocent beauty, wakening to the wonder called spring.  Once you are comfortable in your own inner skin called self, the last letter of love calls you to share that self with others.  The darkness of love pours out sweetly, like chocolate wine over your tongue, soothing the pain that was once there, as is still to come.  Authenticity and genuineness are the clothes love wears as she flirts with you, dazzling you with her lack of pretension, her spontaneity.  As her clothes fall to the hardened earth that was once your heart, you see a veracity that runs deeper than the skin.  This is love.  May I forever kiss it with a thousand kisses.