About Love

when I ask you about love
you see the sky stretching airy
surrender to be enjoyed but refused to belong

when you ask me about love
I see human destiny. curse in the earth
with their short arms and their long willingness

when I ask you about love
you think I’m a little gloomy bird
fly struggling to find a place to hide from
the eyes of the hunter’s bullets

when you ask me about love
I think you’re the only one remaining tree
you’re lonely and broke a branch itself

when someone asks about love
what is really needed?
Is it a luxury of the words or enough our imperfections?

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