I had said there was an element missing, the composition of which I can't describe because I had never know it. This thought, this feeling, this deep connection—that cant be recreate with the mere bonding of bodies, because you see it’s a bonding of our souls, two halves that make a whole and create this thing we call love.

What is love? A by-product of the mind’s fantasy?
Here to lead us to true ecstasy?
Is it pathos created by the stage of the world?
A game we learn to play when we are young?
No one seems to know.

Asked for the definition, scholars are undecided, and divided by all the different kinds. More than a friendship, or deep as your faith, love abounds.

Love is
Over said
But Yet can be...
And still... Always... LOVE.

What is this thing that causes men and women to become the
Cunning or the shy,
Skillful or clumsy,
To Open or closed
at just the prospect,
Just the Thought
Of this thing called love

So where is my Eros? Because your passion and lust are not enough to fill my need to be loved

Love fills my thoughts like sunlight fills the sky
It Drinks me in and refuses to let me grow
I am a prisoner to her deathly gentle pull
She wants me to surrender and give into her plans
It's her will to have all of Man-
Coupled, Doubled, and Conjoined
She doesn't know that I might be happy single, yet willing to mingle
But only with those worth the time
She can't see that I'm FINE,
But let’s not confuse not wanting
With not needed...
or the reverse?
or converse?
Still this verse ends with one single plea..
Will my love find me?