If I speak of love, it is because love speaks
To me, like we are having this conversation
About love itself, and I ask love that if I speak
Of love, will love believe me?
And love sighed, and finds this question
Too self-serving for itself, for love could
Be biased too, telling me that if I speak
Of her, she will believe me, oh, that would
Be too unnecessary of love, to speak about itself,
For love to believe in love from love itself
Who is asking about love,
About me and telling me, she will believe me,
In fact, this would be too confusing, too confusing,
But I speak of her today, and I speak of myself
Too, believing about this love of mine,
And so confused we see each other eye to eye,
The eye of love to my eye of true love,
Talking heart to a true heart,
The heart of love talking to the heart of true love,
and finally, though confused, and still taking breaths,
love, she finally,
Said, yes, love believes me, love believes my love,
love speaks of love, love believes in love,
In my love, and there is no other. Love begets love.
That is what human history had always told to itself.