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| This Love |
| by Peter Fifield |
This love that I now enter stands like a garden before me, with love’s inviting gate.
Too long now I have stood under this enormous portico trying to withstand love’s greatest weight. There was neither sun, nor vestiges of any marvelous horizon before love embraced me with both arms. How does one prepare for such uncontrollable desire, and accustom his lips to the naughtiest of love’s charms. How does one come down from this nameless euphoric state, only to endure the immense passion of his sorrow? I shall not be just another lonely heart remembering, for one way or another I will embrace a sweeter tomorrow. This love that I now with grieving heart must depart; for the love of your beauty I dare not contemplate. Yet! All having been said about this stroll in your garden, I truly felt lucky to stand before the porticos of love’s immeasurable gate.
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