They call this emotion blind.
So if love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.
And it’s food for the soul
So if love were a banquet, I’d be a glutton.
If love were a bottle of vinegar, I’d be pickled in it.
But what would my love be like? I’ll tell you.
If my love were a letter, it would be silent.
If my love were a word, it would be misspelt.
If my love were a sentence, it would be incomplete.
If my love were a question, it would be rhetorical.
If my love were a paragraph, it would be verbose.
If my love were a language, it would be Braille.
And yes, love is always painful.
If love were a disease, it would be the cancer in your cells.
If love was murder, I’d be dead in your arms tonight.
If love were just a shot of poison, I’d be lying cold with a smile on my lips.
But instead, there’s art and food and poetry.
And an empty glass in my hands.