Mine is a love that does not ask for more -

not love that's conjured from some depth with pain;

my love cares not to rise up from a sore

and keeps its happiness without more rein.

I'd hold it fast if I but had the need,

I'd kill it with the dust of mind-made laws,

but such an operation 'gainst some weed

would pull up nothing - I've expunged such flaws.

You think I lie now, to myself, I guess;

I cannot say for certain, though I know

that if I find such stories when I press

I'd find no value in what thinking'd show.

If understanding's not without self-doubt,

It's not quite worth it just to stomp and shout.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*shrug* not much to say about this one.  It just is.

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