beatificience

Ineffably it is of human nature
and indubitable to one
and does ask;
what is love?
seem rhetorical.
it is. its a poem, nevertheless.

What Is love?
in the mere eyes of meager blossom
tis' the yearn of begone sorrow, for one pray at morrow
an angelic (make it obvious) grasp, one to hoist to the heavens
and without regard of its last(ing-ness?), a voyage to a goddess
i rather have no prowess, than spend a second less alongside
perfection, with-all i am nothing but a flaw, a raw trivial drawl
the notion to abdicate all without condition in veiled ambition,
for none are to merit, whence i have none to forfeit.

The mere thought of your essence eclipses my awareness of personal inconsequence; you flourish ineffable mauve beauty, of which cannot be uttered with precision. who am i to linger amongst your excellence. yet i do, and though subjective this is what i love
hence answered.