You don’t know a thing

about darkness

until you fall in love

with light.

Men with laughing faces

dig up diamonds to dazzle

ripe women, succulent peaches

falling from wind-swept trees.

A dilapidated rusted truck

the only witness,

as a snorting horse

looks askance

beside a tilted silo.

Your love will do

voodoo on you,

you will be Mesmerised

by her scent, sense her aura,

and see her as a flower

of white thighs

that never fades.

She will quench your thirst

and feed the gnawing hunger

in your empty heart with liquid gold.

Qualified love will never do:

Catherine the Great

must have been lonely

to engage in sexual acrobatics

with her favorite horse,

and die, a fat lady

sitting on a commode.

When love is absolute

the dread of loss

will haunt you like Bela Lugosi’s

Count Dracula, until one of you