Love is like liking strangers,
things or concepts strange,
unforced and unskilled,
as though within the system liked,
dimly or forever unique,
familiar or be otherwise.
That thing is blind as a bat,
personal and cultivable by habit,
also borders on culture,
smacked of faith and fervor,
or just be meaningless nonetheless.
Increases after every meet up or miss,
faces rough weather now and then
after a seed of hatred
but still runs unawares oddly,
proving in the end right,
and it’s absolute
as love disgusts no one
for too long and owning every part,
wise or otherwise those loved or not.
Call it any name,
but hail those lovesick,
shall win at ‘Love All’ in life’s game!