Love Is

When they told me love is blind I did not believe them. I wondered for years and still could not understand their meaning.

But that was before I met you, my darling, and my eyes were opened!

You, with your lips the color of newly churned butter and your hair the color of the sea reflecting the afternoon sky. Your pondering eyes, so close they nearly touch: one large, one small. Your skin slick like oil that springs forth from the earth and your two breasts like twin tortise shells.

Even now as I gaze upon you I puzzle at the confusion that so imprisoned my soul. Was it even real? Did I know it at all?

Those who advised me were surely wrong. Or at least misled.

If love is truly blind, then I wish not to know the truth. For maybe I am blind, and love is love.