Love.

Love is a morning fog

quickly kicked in the chest

and left to evaporate

in the morning Sun.

It's there for a moment

before unrelenting

reality sets in

and exchanges blouse for sweater;

colour for darker shades.

Love is a feeble dog

with beautiful eyes

and a paling will,

on shaky legs;

still seeking the welcome touch of a

soft hand,

after oft receiving

the business end

of a hard boot.

The truth is,

I don't know what love is.

I thought I saw it

the other day;

turned out to be

just a morning fog,

and the shadow of a feeble dog

passing quickly by my window.