Love

Makes us write poems and sculpt marble though inner strength

Makes us knee bend

Makes us difficult to reply to that work email

Because the mind is not free, it is in jail

That jail is a rose prison, with red flowers and hitting thorns

And you received both the keys and the warns

But still, that’s where you want to be.

🌷(2)

Love

◄ First person, singular, London n. 1

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