What was love without the blame, again?
A lash upon my own back
From me, my own slave-master.
I defeat myself,
Writhe in the guilt of disappointment.
And I see my tears falling
Without a say to where they land.
What was love without the coil,
From life with sharp wings?
What was love in all its devouring
Of my life and its freedom?
I am never,
And I know it,
Never to stay away from it.