love’s the ultimate sly squatter

how could it come to pass that halfway
through my sixty-eighth orbit of the sun
Love
would find me?

how, when I was without need
or hunger or even a shy dream that
Love
might find me?

perhaps Love, like me, is a homeless vagrant;
like a mysterious night moth,
It seeks out the empty, glowing
innocent heart
and quietly moves in

emelle says:
Love’s the ultimate sly squatter

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~ miriam louisa

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