Prose

Love... The young seek it, the bitter scorn it, fools spurn
it, and before my glorious thralldom, I was all of these.

My dove, my perfect one; ever you shall be the reason there
is life in me, for I have discovered that love is not the fleeting aroma
carried on the passing wind.

It is the very air we breathe.  Let us breathe deeply.
                                                                                                    
                                                      ~Christopher Thor Britt