I cause love,
Though I, myself, am not loving.
I give no roses.
I am not love,
I am what love exposes:
The mind, uncomfortable; a vain thought; a sigh;
Or the look on your face when you see my face and smile before you cry.
I am the fog which dreams, the fog the silent harbor encloses
On a summer evening when the water is strangely bright
And the scene and the boats illuminated as the night
Gets ready to fall, prepares for tranquility and beauty
To die, and you love what the beauty discloses.
You don’t remember me.
You remember all the poses.