What does your love feel like?

Is it soft and fluid
Or does it cloy on the teeth
Like a bloodied, boxer’s mouth?

Does it make the heart sick
With sweet, sweet sugarings
That spin and drip in sticky clouds
Or as dry as a vacillating savanna
Flecked with dead oases
And forgotten bone?

Is it warm and peaceful
Or does it retch
Like the last breath of a suicide?

© Mel Lampro