Bastard Freedom Waves Her Fustian Flag In

Though An Angel Should Write, Still 'tis Devils Must Print.

Romantic Love Is An Illusion. Most Of Us Discover This Truth At The End Of A Love Affair Or Else When The Sweet Emotions Of Love Lead Us Into Marriage And Then Turn Down Their Flames.

This Wretched Brain Gave Way, And I Became A Wreck At Random Driven, Without One Glimpse Of Reason Or Heaven.

When We Relate To Our Bodies As Having Soul, We Attend To Their Beauty, Their Poetry And Their Expressiveness. Our Very Habit Of Treating The Body As A Machine, Whose Muscles Are Like Pulleys And Its Organs Engines, Forces Its Poetry Underground, So That We Experience The Body As An Instrument And See Its Poetics Only In Illness.

It May Help Us, In Those Times Of Trouble, To Remember That Love Is Not Only About Relationship, It Is Also An Affair Of The Soul.