Love.

Love...

to me is like nectar to a bee.
honey to a bear,..

indefinable,..
No telling when it'll come, and when it'll go, likewise a comet in the skies.

prepared i am for this is a bitter one,
but the process is beautiful, sweet, relishable, jovial.

precocious some presume i am,
realistism is what i remotely feel.

savoring the moments now,
for it may be gone the next,
the rhapsodical affection surging from the core of my heart.

foreseeing the tossup of the end of it,
are tears, along with misery and effervescent forlorness,
vivaciously overwhelming.

by then, all that i have is my past,
and all the things we used to do.