poetOflore

Let me tell you of love; of the way it settles deep in your chest like a cat curls into a cushion. Let me also tell you of love; of the way it can hide under your couch like a cat slinks under it to avoid your questing hand. It purrs in your belly, unfurls like the stretch of toe beans on carpet and rubs its cheek against you in sweet affection. It hisses down your spine pricks like the extension of murder mittens on skin and turns its tail against you in cold dismissal. It is sleek as silk and nimble as a rabbit playful as Spring and warm as Autumn candlelight. It is bristled like alarm and skittish as a hare cold as Winter and hot as the blaze of Summer. It is joy it is sadness it is knowledge it is failure but above all beneath the sentiments love is conscious love is blind. And love is not a cat. But you can love a cat.