Heartbeats for something that has not happened yet
And butterfly wings tremble in stomachs
Blushing pink upon cheeks of marionettes
The bitter taste of a secret, blood rushing

Has love ever been easy to define?
To grow, to smile, to laugh, to die, to rot
And for nothing at all we wait in line
Hoping. But what is love if love is naught?

Love harshly sculpts us, yet with gentle hands
Battered and held up by myths surreal
So we huddle around but love just stands
Unwilling to make exceptions, to steal

And as winged creatures taking flight
love leaves us all with eternal plight.