Learning to love differently is hard
Love with the hands open, love
With the doors banging on their hinges
The cupboard unlocked, the wind
Roaring and whimpering in the rooms
Rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
That thwack like rubber bands
In an open palm.
Where love reigns, there is no will to power; and where the will to power is paramount, love is lacking. The one is but the shadow of the other.