Valentines

Love is music, a poem of verses.

At times a hard-core circle pit, 

a tornadoe of fist and feet, 

black eyes, 

bloody knuckles 

and broken noses. 

At the same time it is rapturous symphonies, 

1000 pieces strong, 

cadenced and climaxed, 

valley and peak, 

trough and trepid tip,

with ballet dancers, white laced with purple stardust 

and perfume, elegance. 

It is gypsies wielding tambourines and veiled faces,

seductive eyes and mysteries of arsenic thoughts 

that throw burning bottles of Molotov-desires 

at the wooden stick hut that is the heart.

Love is the nth demension.