Yesterday I was in a bar. We were in this bar. And we were so into each other, it was embarrassing.
He says that I usually cannot keep my hands off him when we are together. At first I thought it was not true. Later, I did notice that I tend to touch him; small, unobtrusive touches, now and again, when we are together. May out us in the wrong place, I guess.
At that time, I felt so much in love I started writing. It was dark. Not enough light to go around, certainly too little to see by. I was feeling so in love that I felt it could just pour out onto the page and smother it. Just wrote without reading what I was writing. Told him I wanted to kiss him there and then. He laughed, ducked away.
I had seen the post by Cindy, but I did not think it was supposed to be a criticism or something! Sasha thinks otherwise. I looked at it again this morning, and I thought, why not come up with my definition of love? Not the one that Sasha and Cindy seem to be labouring about, but mine, you know!
What is love?
He is so into me,
I’m so into him;
Is that love?
When I look into his eyes,
they look huge, pools of love,
that I can for life swim in.
Is that love? Is it love,
when I forget myself and see him;
is it love when I exist for him?
is it love when I feel him drown in my eyes,
when he tells me he loves me,
And I feel the weight of a mountain of conviction
In his words, is that love?
Is it love when I face the world,
rather than lose his touch, his look?
Is it love when I risk life, limb ‘n all
Just to be next to him?
Is it love?
If it ain’t love, pray tell,
What is love? What is love?
©GayUganda 02 Nov. 2007