Writing about love is the cool thing to do. Everyone has something to say, few folks have words worthy of being read and even fewer have diction that speaks the truth of their souls, uncircumcised. I can’t tell which of these groups I fall into–perhaps all of them–but I will tell you that my dance with love has been as classy, sensual and unpredictable as a Chi-Town two-step, complete with dips, hip rolls, licked lips and promises yearned for and never fulfilled yet enjoyed none-the-less. I have found it more fruitful to name those glimpses, impersonators and carriers of love noted by city, style and demeanor…than to write about some all-encompassing yet never definable term.
Older, presented as wise, rarified and of high esteem…always beckoning while withdrawing, implying but never stating, boldly proclaiming the ability to boldly proclaim but caressing with a whisper and never holding that which is…
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