they say love is a fountain <br />flowing down like the Victoria Falls <br />magnificent. genuine, indescribable. <br />they say it's where waters of the same current confluence <br />they savour the smooth and turbulent flows <br />together intertwined <br />with much deference and pure affinity <br /> <br />but what do you call it <br />when the sense of revulsion takes the helm <br />malevolent. antagonistic, forefingers poking <br />the open space into a fitful polka-dot? <br />is it still a flawless fountain when <br />blows rearrange your facial features <br />turning them ashen? <br />abrasion perhaps <br />i think it very unlikely <br /> <br />love does not lie in perfectly boned faces, <br />high social standards or fat credit cards <br />it is merely the promise of common hearts <br />unsurpassed by beauty or property <br />so the least a person should do <br />is let their love do the talking<br /><br />Stella Sisanda Qishi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-say-love/
