Random Task in Love

     There she goes once again, she can, or doesn’t see the reason to, never decide to truly stay with me.
     Who would want to stay on the guest list for a bag of bones and flab over here?
     I’m hoping she will.
     I can’t berate her any longer with idle thoughts and such like hope. I have to look at the evidence before a verdict comes forth from the random task in love:
     She is beautiful. People have written “words can not describe what she...” and then recite a Shakespeare or Dickens monologue. She doesn’t get words now because all description and scope and intake can be read on her face.
     Her eyes,
     Her curves revealing the pacing of the hormones are reaching a healthy level.
     Why do eyes reveal what the vocals can’t endure? Why do two less than an inch in length ovals in white and dark color in the middle give off what is on the mind?
     Why am I asking you?
     She loves me too, her hair flows thou and through, whether long and wary on top of her head or right above the vertical smile lovingly between the legs.
     Her actions, if words could describe it, later convey the lyrics of a Spice Girls love song...when two become one....I had a little love now I’m back for more, set your spirit free, it’s the only way to be...
     For now, I shall contemplate the vision of enlightenment before my ovals.