We love a love

that puts its head on someone else's reliable shoulder,
that hides between
the experienced thighs of women.
We love a love that belongs
to the sky and sometimes, even the kind that is usually stuck under
the next stranger's left boot.We love a love that
is found between some lines, in the solemn folding and
unfolding of hands. We love a love
that would give us a good fuck, sheets useless and tumbled on the floor
where we were standing, uncertain, minutes ago.
But most of the time,
we love a love that burns and burns in the waiting eye of
several memories tacked together
to form something safe, like a lifetime, or,
a show of paired hands
entwined on a canvas to help others believe that
nothing stops,not even the kind of liquid I have
turned into -- something that keeps on breaking on your open palm.