Gentle

Oh Love, tell me are you like a butterfly? Seemingly so innocent but truly necrophagous without hardly anyone even knowing? Are you soft and gentle, do you come as silently and suddenly as you go? To put a little beauty, a little envy and a little childishness in our minds? Or are you like the bread of life? If I have you will I never go hungry? Are you the blind child, so often fooled? So often mocked. Or are you like the name of the Lord, taken in vain? Does lust frame you for his sins? You hide behind so many masks, come in so many shapes and forms, just like me. Are you as confused as the rest of us? I never understood why sex was a sin, anyway. How can the act of love be a crime? Maybe love is a crime, the punishment of it is something all hearts who beat long enough will know. Oh Love, you teasing little butterfly, flying so sweetly among my bed of green grass. If only, if only you were a dog, ever true.