Love arrives

as a lottery ticket:

finite life,

but adorned with hope

and potential riches.

How we clutch the paper


Fist clenched:

"Oh, we mustn't lose it.

Think of what it represents!"

Or what it may, anyway.


are seldom

and often disclaimed.

A receipt, soon expired;

a time bomb of worth.

Yet how we continue to scramble

for that one in a billion

gamble of a shot

as if our faith

cannot be stirred,

our efforts

never deterred.

And I believe

there is some beauty

in the way the chase persists.

For we are colorless

if not for rosy kisses,

and weightless

sans a burden shared.

To partake, and rejoice

that for a time

we were there.

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