Poetry Dare Day 14: About Love II

I think I've felt love before, at
least I know I've spoken the word
as though the concept could become mine
like I had Adam's power coursing through my lungs.
But love isn't something I can name; it's
too potent, too big, too out of range, and
it can't be held like breath; we
can only keep it moving with
inhales and exhales. When I lost it,
my breath stopped. Love has left
me bloody and bruised – it can be
a tangled mess of past regrets like
scars on skin and tears over again –
unfinished sentences with words never said; it
is wondering and missed connections, beats
missing their rhythm and hopes sans
requite – ends minus means for expression, and
loneliness follows far too nicely love's contour; it
is afar and afraid, fearfully frenetic,
functioning, fickle fictions; its friction
burns when it's wielded too quickly, and love
causes forest fires in tree-tall dreams, these
have been the things I've connected with love, so
I don't know if my experiences are indicative of
reality, but I hope they aren't because
I don't want being afraid to say "I love you"
the way the world is wound around itself; I'm
more terrified of finding
I'm right, so show me
how love functions; teach
my hands to be gentle, my
tongue to be truthful, my
limbs to find grace, my
eyes to hod beauty; I'm
asking you for help because
I want to find grace in faith
and cease wasting these precious pulses; it's
repulsive, and
I want a change, and
if love is like breath, then
love can't be held, but
it is the reason we can function, it
is the reason to be because
although changed
it is given and
taken equally.