To write a poem about desired love would have to be called a mockery.
Love does not exist to be desired it is just plainly to be wanted.
The true passion lies strictly with in the bodily hormones.
Thats all it is lovey dovey junk.
Or that wonderful fake stuff of, oh when i look into your eyes i can see the whole future spread out for my like a map of the world.
Where we will go and what we'll do, thats not so true.
Love to people these days is get in your pants and love the feeling thats what it is. *sigh*
Its so disgraceful it saddens me.
