things I know

Love Alone Is Not Enough

I am a reader and writer of romance.

I love, love
in all it’s pretty colors of pinks and reds, passion and flowers.

Love alone is not enough
to tell or make a story.
It’s the pretty part.

It’s the part that makes you sigh, that touches your heart, that allows the exhale.
It’s the part that makes you wet and wild, moist and hard,
nipples and clitoris turgid with desire for the newest, latest lover
inside or out of a book and my bed.

I love, love.

Love alone is not enough
because it doesn’t clean up the cat vomit or the shit inside or out of the kitty litter box.
Love alone doesn’t take out the trash,
but it does make trash removal easier.

Between the sheets of paper, and on my bed, love makes the world-go-round;
fireworks explode because of love, even if it is just the lie of love.
Love helps clean up the ugly and paint over the betrayal of life.


Love alone cannot make whole cloth from rags, rope and string
even when I sweat and bleed to weave it all together, love alone is not enough.

I love, love and its power to redeem the unredeemable,
to make the horrible understandable,
even if it will never be acceptable.

I am a reader and writer of romance.
I love, love.

Love alone is not enough
to end the shadows, to wipe away the pain,
the loneliness and the sorrow,
but love will dress all of that up.

And make the unbearable,

Bearable again.

By M.L. Seager

PoetM.L. Seager is my poet alter-ego. I’ve been writing poetry since I was eleven. It’s my gateway drug into writing, and it’s where I feel the most at home. For me, poetry is the snapshot, the shot of a moment in time, a captured fleeting second of life that speaks eternally across the universe. It is where I go to be renewed again.



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