The all knowing heart
Doesn’t ask after love;
For, the all knowing heart knows all
What there is
Is what there is,
What the definition cannot know.
What, infused in the caress, mingles
With your pulse to flow.
And you wouldn’t know.
Even if it was told, even if inked
Into your skin as I hold you, still,
You wouldn’t know.
Clichés hold place where impulses elude meaning.