Anatomy Of Love

The thinker
Is simply a Rodin sculpture
When the knee holds the weight
Of the brain-installed skull
And the radius is but a telamon
For the temple of man
May be the pinnacle of intelligence
And free-will, even the land of dreams
Yet only blood pumps her fuel
And flesh and bone hold her throne
After all the mind is a puzzle
And the body is a riddle
And in their nuptials, one finds
A sphinx searching for Oedipus
To unveil the mother
Of all nurturers
– Love.




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