A Would-Be Love Sonnet

47

If I die before love, strike me
With the purity of footsteps of karma
That in the next life, my holy force
Will flash the incredible whispers
With poetry, and warm affection
Since, in Love I’ll die a second time
To myself, once so selfish and conceited
I will serve my kin, as is ancient custom
Wooed by joys so terrible, biological imperatives
And then I shall say, ‘Whoever loved like we did’
And I shall boast, with irrevocable delight
Those roses I shall burry in eternal months
And with the light that endures, with the love
That consumes all the fruit, new lives will be made
To love again, with burning hearts, subtle flower-kisses.

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