How do you ground the notion of love?
First
you connect two to three hearts
with battery wires,
ensuring they are fastened
tight enough to
zap and zing
one another
hard as thousand year old lightning,
dark as lost-for-eons canyons,
deep as a new lover’s eyes
surprised at midnight,
sleeping over for the first time
when you invite them
as they’re saying their goodbyes.
After time,
love either grounds itself
or wasn’t truly love to begin with.
The notion of love
is sometimes taken
to the precipice of
a cliff you can’t afford to climb up to
or dangle precariously from
while awaiting the magic to overcome.
Sometimes you cannot
obtain that love.
Sometimes,
if you’re lucky,
it simply comes
and you just have to work
to keep that spark charged.
April Ridge lives in the expansive hopes and dreams of melancholy rescue cats. She thrives on strong coffee, and lives for danger. In the midst of Indiana pines, she follows her heart out to the horizon of reality and hopes never to return to the misty sands of the nightmarish 9 to 5. April aspires to beat seasonal depression with a well-carved stick, and to one day experience the splendor of the Cucumber Magnolia tree in bloom.
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