Through the steady pulse and rush of running blood

Through the steady pulse and rush of running blood. From the Achilles weakness to the dimples by the brow. Through the curves of an endlessly wonderful body Love runs headlong. Confident and bold. There are no clocks, no rush hours, no sleeping policemen, No stop signs standing there for nothing. No crossroads, no batons, no scarlet traffic lights, No rails and sleepers, no late express trains. She is like soil for ideas that seemed barren. She is like a weaver of eastern garments, motley, dense. Absurd as a dream, true as waking life. But willful — just try and make her. Truly, it'd be quicker to tame a dragon. She knows no rules, no frames. There is no law above her. She is the law herself, the same for the whole Universe, The one meaning of being for our perishable flesh. You can't take her in with your ears, the way women do. You can't enter her with half-opened souls. Sliding stubbornly from the outskirts to the center, Not fawning, not making any terrible secrets, She glues you in you with you, grain by grain. Begging you with you in you to unite, Ready to lay the whole world at your feet. Ready to cover your naked shame for free. Ready to swallow the hurt of bitter words. Her libido for you is always running high. She's a chemical fountain of ferocious passion. Why, she'll tear anyone to pieces for you. How often do you shift your focus onto her? Frolicking with joy, starting your vacation right away. Not once a week, when you hear a whisper, When only the flesh calls to top up the sweet experience. But twenty for per seven in touch with her, not only going from rags to riches, or on your knees, in the dirt before a bearded man in a cowl and a cassock. And to share, not to rule — now that's gratitude For bearing, day after day, a screaming no-talent. For how, day after day, with hope, without reproach, The apples of discord you have chewed She strives to clear away with as little blood as she can. If the name embarrasses you — just call her Love.