Counterfeits of Love

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Words are lovers that never love;

Oblivious to the feelings they relate;

For they may seem real and “tried and true”

Yet only in conveying a counterfeit

In me and in you.


Words are lovers that words hold back,

The gatekeepers of freedom,

Enemy of passion,

Hater of too

Much Lust,

Desire, or

Any thought that is

Questionably undesired.


Words are a constricted construct

That conveys civil discourse

In spite of truth,

It’s no wonder why artists seek love

From an oft-void psychopathic troth.


Whose truth lies in the subjectivity

Of slathered-on lies

No matter how great the artist,

Artistic vision often dies


For meaning is felt in seeing

Because such love, fantasy,

Or whatever we achieve to see

Can never be


A syntax,

A code,

A signifier,

a handbook–

An ill-attempted imitation of me

And Thee,

Of destiny.