It is a strange thing, love

It is a strange thing,
Love.
You can hold, in your brain,
the knowledge of the hormones
and neural patterns
and social conditioning
and all the rational elements
of the artifice of love.

And yet.

It is there, just the same,
alone with you
in your rationalizations…
A soft whisper
in your consciousness,
that despite what you know,
it just doesn’t matter.
The experience of love
will be
will be
will be
just the same,
caressing your thoughts,
transforming your existence,
moment by moment,
with absolutely no regard,
for the scientific method.

You
will be
will be
will be
in love,
you will be hopelessly
and helplessly
in love.

You will exist
in the silence,
your heart beating
to fill the void.

You will see your love
in the powerfully green,
sun-dappled
leaves of the trees.

You will not escape,
and you can no longer
think of any reason why
you should wish to.

You will be
will be
will be
in love.

And it will ever
     and always
          be enough.