Love, My Dear.

It's a whisper in the morning,
It's a goading in the eve,
It's that group of words I use on you,
When I try to make you leave.
It's a kiss first on your left cheek,
Then on your right to match,
It's like a blow to your stomach,
Or a bruising or a scratch.
It's a tentative touch of fingers,
A last embrace at night,
It's the twining of our limbs together,
In the fire light.
It's a battleground for many,
It's a scorching fire for more,
It's a pleasurable business,
Or as tedious as a chore.
It's the way a person wakes up,
Or how they lie in bed,
It's those words that everyone wants to hear,
Out loud, not just in heads.
It's that childish chorus of 'I told you so',
It's that moon hung by the clouds,
It's love, my dear, that powerful force,
Which covers, engulfs and shrouds.