There's a rumble in the causeway
And the river trickles down
To the places of drought,
Mouths of a heart begging for love's moisture.

So do I love her?
I don't understand the question...
Am I in love with her?
I cannot say.

I know this:

She is the beauty
Of an unborn rose,
And yet I still
Gasp at her full bloom.

Every spotlight of an
Early morning sun on
Specks of dust in meditation
Bring the light in her eyes to a weary soul...

You see a body and conditions.
I see a four winged Seraphim with
Flaming sword.
I am tempered by design to see her truth.

My existence contains a unique hole,
Worn by agony, longing, and sacrifice.
She is the remaining piece,
One that is nestled perfectly into it.

You have asked the wrong question.

Does a river fall in love
With the riverbed on which it flows?
They are created by perfection,
One to fit the other.

The cretins call to her worn oaths
Of that which they cannot comprehend,
While in the vessel of her heart
They leave extra weight and dirty scuff-marks.

I am distinct from them.
I will not say I am in love with her.
"In love" is simply an aggravated
Version of "like".

The sharp daggers of my life,
Held in grubby paws of enemies
That dare to beset me from all sides
Melt into the steam of her single touch.

I have been burned,
Broken, refined.
She is deeper than my blood,
Coursing feverishly from a glance.

So my desire for her is the
Waves gently lapping her hull-
Then let my love, my hope, my peace
Be the vast oceans she sails upon.

Did I answer the question?